


The Navigator

by DanceWithMeForScience



Series: Turning to Piracy [1]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Canon Queer Character, Canon Queer Character of Color, Gay Pirates, M/M, Not set on Earth, Queer Themes, piracy on another planet, queer pirates, the planet is called Hashules
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-05-07 06:45:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19204042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanceWithMeForScience/pseuds/DanceWithMeForScience
Summary: Paul Stamets is many years into his career as a navigator for the Izosrinate Empire navy, when a disaster sends him into the clutches of a pirate community who challenges him in ways he's never been challenged before.





	1. A Sea of Confusion

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to @Cygfa for the beta read and many helpful comments, and to everyone on the Culmets Discord who has cheerled this AU idea.  
> The story is mostly done and will be posted in full over the next couple weeks!

There’s so much water: in his eyes, his ears, his nose, his throat. Paul clutches the splintered board for dear life as he coughs and sputters salty water. 

Another cannon fires, booming in the distance, and wood shatters to his left, sending bits into the sea and into his skin. Someone screams.

In his desperate fight for his next second of life, he neglected to account for the ongoing barrage. His pale skin and blond hair are going to stick out beautifully for the enemy, whoever they are, to target.

He lets go free of the board with his right hand, twisting around in the water, looking for some sort of shelter.

The debris field to his right is all tiny splintered wood, nothing big enough to float on, let alone hide behind.

He switches his grip. To the left, there are larger pieces, even partially intact decks still sinking, but that’s where the enemy ship is still firing.

He kicks his legs out under the board and twists some more to look behind him.

There. A corner of the  _ Buran _ floats behind him, a set of boards angling up into the air, but not big enough, he hopes, to warrant destroying further.

But to get there he’s going to have to swim.

A wave splashes over him, sending water up his nose and flooding into his mouth.

As he struggles to expel the water and regain his senses, he’s also hit with a jolt of determination.

_ I am not going to die like this _ .

He hasn’t spent the better part of fifteen years at sea, only to die in some random ambush. 

The enemy ship is reloading its cannons. If he’s going to hide he needs to do it  _ now _ .

Paul takes in one good deep breath, lets go of his first life preserver, and ducks under the water, swimming clumsily through the waves toward his second refuge.

When he can no longer hold out, he surfaces just enough to suck in a breath. But more water washes over his face, and he’s forced to kick himself up higher.

He coughs and treads water as he looks around for his destination.

It’s almost right on top of him - the waves must have brought it closer.

With a final burst of effort, he drops beneath the surface again and struggles to safety behind the debris. As he comes back up for air he clutches the ragged edge of the ship he used to call home. It’s big enough behind here for another person to hide too.  _ Is the captain alive? Is anyone? _

And with his next moments of life accounted for, now all he has to do is wait. And stay alive. If the ship leaves without finding him, then… then… what?

 

***

 

Hugh orders his crew to scour the Izosrinati navy ship’s wreckage for supplies and bring everything on board.

They scramble to lower small boats to the ocean and row off with haste.

His lookout, Tilly, had spied the unidentified rogue ship as it fled the scene of the wreckage. Obviously it was an enemy of the Izosrinate Empire, but flew no flag and had no markings she recognized. Hugh had made the call to stay at a distance, flag lowered, cannons hidden until the vessel had passed. Generally they attempted to pass as a warship repurposed as a merchant vessel, a common occurrence with the rate that the imperial navy upgraded its ships. 

This wreckage clearly belongs to one of the imperial fleet’s older ships, making the salvage mission even less likely to garner anything of use to them. However, it’s been a difficult year for Hugh’s people, and they need literally everything they can get.

Hugh sets himself to the task of preparing to receive the salvage he hopes is coming. He helps the crew below decks, making room amongst their provisions. But it doesn’t take long until they’re as ready as they’ll ever be. 

Then he sends the crew up into the rigging to inspect it, just to keep them busy.  

That settled, he heads back to his quarters, a small cabin midship, with orders to Joann that he’s not to be disturbed until the crews return from the salvage. He hasn’t been sleeping well lately. 

His bed is maybe his favorite thing about the ship: a simple straw mattress piled with tapestries and blankets. He can crawl under just the right number of layers to suit him on any given occasion. All of the textiles come from his pirate adventures, or were purchased with coin from those adventures, and so it’s a cozy reminder of his accomplishments. A large porthole gives him a surprisingly good view of the sea when he’d prefer to remain sequestered below decks.

It’s a warm day so he only needs one blanket, and it doesn’t take long before he’s fast asleep.

The urgent knocking at his door rouses him some unknown time later, although it’s clearly still daytime.

“Captain, the crews are back aboard,” Joann calls. “We have a report for you.”

Hugh sighs and rubs the sleep out of his eyes. What he wouldn’t give for a full night’s sleep. Soon. He hopes. When he’s back on land maybe he can take a few days to rest.

He rolls out of bed, pulls his boots back on, and meets an assortment of the crew on deck.

Joann, dressed in a ruffled white blouse and black breeches, is standing at attention next to three soaking wet, shivering soldiers, all dressed in the remnants of the imperial navy’s gray and black uniforms. The one on the left, with blond hair and blue eyes and skin paler than any Hugh’s ever seen from a sailor, is  _ glaring _ at Hugh. The woman in the middle, long dark hair dripping onto the deck, stares straight ahead in quiet determination. The man on the right, with thick dark hair and eyebrows and a deep tan, looks at his feet.

“Joann, report,” Hugh says reluctantly.  _ The last thing we need right now is more mouths to feed. _

“The salvage operation was largely unsuccessful, Captain, but we did retrieve some building materials, firearms, and these three imperial lackeys,” she says crisply. “They identified themselves as Paul Stamets, Ellen Landry, and Yuran Quinn.”

“Write me a manifest of our new cargo. Have Keyla take us home once everything is secure,” Hugh orders. He turns to the rest of his crew. “Gen, Saru, Bryce, stay on deck. I’ll need you to take care of the prisoners when I’m done with them.”

After a moment, the three crew and the three prisoners are left alone on deck with Hugh.

"So, what've we got here? Three apologists for the empire, right?” The blond man opens his mouth, eyes sharp. “No, you're not going to argue with me,” Hugh snaps. “I make the rules here. This isn’t one of your precious imperial courts." He draws his sword and points it at each of their throats, right to left, waiting for the fear to appear in their eyes. No such luck - they’re unmoved. And the blond just stares him down obstinately. Finally, Hugh sticks his sword back in his belt and sighs. "You'll live. It's more than you deserve, but at least you can be useful to us."

"How would you know what I deserve?" the blond man sneers.

Hugh walks right up to him until their faces are inches apart. "You’re in no position to be arguing with me right now. Anyone who works for the empire is helping them kill people. We could have left you in the ocean to die."

"You certainly like making threats," comes the reply. "Do you think so highly of yourself that you think you're any different? I've never threatened anyone." 

"Your whole empire is a threat," Hugh says, spitting on the floor right next to this insolent soldier of the enemy. "I wouldn't have been sad if you all had drowned."

The man only smirks.

Unforeseen rage boils up in Hugh’s brain. “Joann, take the prisoners to the brig,” he forces out between clenched teeth. The man smirks at him until he's shoved out of the room.

 

***

 

When Airiam, peering through their telescope, announces that the Discovery is on the horizon, the panic in Michael’s chest drains away. Her friend makes the same sigh of relief. Her sharp vision allows her to see that the ship is in good condition.

The two of them rally the rest of the island to begin preparing a feast. Fruits are harvested, fish are caught, beer and rum are dragged out of the cave. Reno even starts a fire in her oven, promising bread. It’s been a long time since they’ve had bread, but if any occasion calls for using up the last of the flour, it’s this.

Their friends are home and they’re going to celebrate right.

By the time the ship sets anchor in the sheltered bay next to the _Shenzhou_ , and the crew begins to row ashore, night has fallen.

Michael waits on the beach to greet her friends. Gen, Keyla, and Bryce lead the crew on the first rowboat, hopping out and dragging the vessel far enough onto the beach to tie it to a piling, safe against the strong tides.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she says to them, hugging them each tightly in turn, inhaling their salty smell from the days at sea. It had been hard to stay home, but her ship had needed repairs too. A captain’s work is never done. “Why aren’t Joann and Tilly with you?”

Rhys reports, as he squeezes out the bottom of his breeches legs, soaked with ocean water, “They’re helping with the prisoners.”

“Prisoners?” Michael echoes, growing numbly.

“Yeah, we found an imperial ship almost completely destroyed. There were three survivors. All officers. Apparently not very fond of each other. There was a fight.”

Michael flinches, recalling her own brushes with violence while in a brig. “Are they coming ashore?”

“Yes, they should be along soon. We were short on shackles. Had to tie some knots.”

The pirates aren’t accustomed to taking imperial prisoners. But they also pride themselves on being more cautious with people’s lives than the brutal Izosrinati military…

One of the many reasons Michael stayed here in the first place.

“Reno and Airiam could probably use your help with the feast tonight, if you can.”

“Aye aye!” says Keyla, saluting energetically in the imperial style, tapping her finger to her temple, just above her eyepatch, and then making a fist. She grins at Michael and then follows her friends up the beach toward the common house.

Another rowboat is being launched, and Michael can just make out Tilly’s bright red hair.

She draws designs in the wet sand with her big toe until the boat hits land with a thud.

“Michael!” Tilly shouts, jumping over the side of the boat and hurrying to meet Michael on the beach. Warm hugs at last. “I missed you,” she murmurs into Michael’s neck. “Hugh is not as fun a captain as you.”

“But I bet you learned more from him than from me,” Michael says, knowing how her friend soaks everything up like a sea sponge.

“I did learn a lot this time around,” Tilly concedes. She pulls back to gesture at the boat, and then her eyes widen. “Oh no, I’m supposed to be helping with the prisoners!”

She doubles back to help the prisoners balance as they get out of the boat, as their arms are secured behind their back.

The prisoners are wearing ragged imperial uniforms: a gray jacket with large round black buttons, black trousers striped with gray on the side. The blond prisoner, bound with rope, has narrowed eyes and a scowl etched deep into his face. The brown-haired man and woman, in shackles, seem to be friends, and in slightly better spirits.

Joann and Tilly, daggers now drawn, escort the three up the beach toward the common house.

“Are we really taking them to eat with everyone else?” Michael hisses to Tilly, walking behind her.

“That’s what Hugh said. The blond one got attacked in the brig, but managed to defend himself before we stepped in. Hugh thinks they’ll be less likely to cause trouble if they’re under close watch by a lot of us.” Tilly catches Michael’s eye. “It’s what we did when you arrived, remember?”

 

***

 

Paul is exhausted and hungry beyond words when they finally reach land. He’s never been so glad to be on stable ground, even if he is in distressingly close proximity to Landry and Quinn.

Just up the beach a few minutes is a simple, well-lit open-air structure, filled with a few dozen pirates eating, drinking, and singing songs. He’s put at the table with their guards, two women a bit younger than him, while Landry and Quinn are settled on chairs nearby. The guards redo their arm shackles and rope to put their arms in front of them so they can eat more easily. 

Someone brings them plates of grilled fish and fruit, with a tiny piece of bread, and a strangely shaped, bulbous wooden cup of water. He can’t hide his relief, grinning despite his circumstances at the first taste of well-seasoned fish, spice and sour and sweet dancing on his tongue.

Navy supplies had been short lately - many of the lower-ranking officers had been going a bit underfed. Although the food's nothing fancy here, there seems to be plenty of it.

He scarfs down the food, surveying the scene as he goes, sizing up his new situation.

There's a lot of laughter in this room, and the songs are raucously sung. He recognizes the tune of one of them, an old Izosrinati navy song, but the words are changed to imply various unflattering things about the navy’s skills in battle. He grimaces. The navy isn’t perfect, but it’s his home.

One pirate, dressed in elaborate layers of colored cloth, his face painted garishly, kisses the top of another pirate’s head as they sit. Paul’s jaw drops.

These people  _ touch each other _ . Suddenly the signs of it are all around him. Hugs are given freely, kisses shared, shoulders clapped with affection at a good joke or a sweet gesture. He can’t look away.

Touching another person in any manner in public is considered uncouth back home, and it’s not much more appropriate even at home amongst family, although he’s heard that some towns in the far southeast don’t respect the prohibition as deeply.

It’s undeniable: There is a real friendliness among the pirates, delight at being together, and they express it more openly. It feels infectious, the way each gesture leads to another, the smiles, the laughs, the hugs. It makes his skin crawl.

He’s finishing the chewy yellow fruit on his plate when the captain enters the shelter. The whole room cheers, pounding fists on the table and lifting their cups. But the captain doesn’t seem to share their enthusiasm. He grabs a cups and lifts it half-heartedly, ducking his head in bare acknowledgement of the attention, as he continues walking toward the back toward Paul, the prisoners, and the guards.

The captain sits down on the bench next to the guards. Another pirate brings him a plate, and he digs in.

“I hope we can trade some of those guns, Hugh,” the woman with long dark locks tells the captain. “We don’t have ammunition in those calibers. Not enough to make use of them, anyway.”

Hugh sighs. “Son of a rotting scallop. I’m so fucking done with today, Joann.” Worry is etched into his face.

The red-haired woman adds, “It wasn’t so bad, come on. We got some good quality wood for building, and we got some fresh labor.”

“Tilly, we needed a lot more than that!” Hugh exclaims. “We needed  _ supplies _ . We were out for over a week and we got nothing we really needed. Might as well have stayed here and worked on the fish nets.”

Paul files this knowledge away for later. The pirates are struggling. Maybe they’ll free him in exchange for something. In the meantime… "Can I get some more fish?" 

Hugh rolls his eyes, but gestures to the next table to pass him their fish platter. He forks another small fish onto Paul's plate. 

"They don't feed you on your ship?" he asks pointedly.

Paul shrugs, refusing to be shamed about it. "It's hungry work trying not to drown, and then being locked up all day with people who want you dead." 

Hugh nods, expression softening slightly, before he turns back to his own food.

Paul’s stomach is full that night. It’s nice.

After dinner, Joann lets Paul use their outhouse and then takes him to a separate location from Quinn and Landry.

It's another mostly open-air structure, more like a large lean-to, woven palm mats blocking a bit of the wind from above and the sides. She puts little burlap sacks over his hands and then ties his wrists together and then to the tree that forms the central support for the shelter. "I'm going to be sleeping right here, and I’m a  _ very _ light sleeper," she tells him ominously. "Michael tells me I should probably not stab people when I get startled awake. Maybe one day I'll learn.”

She lies down on a mat next to him, pulling a blanket over herself and staring intimidatingly at him as she places what must be just one of her knives on the dirt behind her. Paul's left to sleep on the bare ground, although fortunately it's not too cold - yet.

In the darkness, peels of laughter still ringing out occasionally from the main building, Paul's utterly unable to sleep. From being startled from sleep by a battle, to jumping overboard, to being rescued (if one could call this a rescue), it's been one of the most adventurous days he's had since the day he ran away from home. His arms ache from swimming, his hand hurts where he disarmed Quinn earlier in the brig before he could shiv him, and the tiny cuts all over him from the explosions and wreckage still sting with salt water. He’s uncomfortable, but more than that, his mind races with the memories and the possibilities.

The pirates' behavior is different from what he's been led to believe the last fifteen years. They're harsh, yes, but they fed him, separated him from Quinn and Landry, and didn’t beat him. They almost remind him of the clerics who run shelters and feed the poor back home. 

And yet these are criminals, sworn enemies of the empire. How good can they really be? Hugh threatened them at swordpoint. And Joann definitely threatened his life just now.

Why would they all carry knives and swords, and why would their ships have cannons, if they weren't prepared to kill people? 

He’ll bide his time, plan an escape, and get out of here. Hopefully without Landry and Quinn at his back.


	2. Walking the Plank

The squawkers wake Hugh not long after dawn. Big yellow birds with red and black beaks and a sound like an amplified strangled crow, they are the bane of his existence in the early mornings. He rolls over and pulls his quilt tighter around himself, hoping for more sleep.

What feels like moments later, but by the way the sun beats through the window, is probably more than an hour later, there’s a knock on his door. “Hugh? You awake?”

“I am now,” Hugh grumbles, tossing back the quilt and sitting up. “Come in, Dad.”

His father, Tyno, enters, dressed in his favorite blue shirt and yellow wrap. “I heard the party last night and figured you were home. Decided to walk over this morning.” He eyes Hugh with a grin. “Slept in your clothes, huh?”

“And that’s any of your business, how?”

His dad holds up his hands, chuckling. “How did the voyage go?”

“Not good. We only picked up some wood from a wreck, some guns we can’t even use, and three imperial prisoners.” Hugh goes to his wash basin, right next to where Tyno is standing, and pours some water from a pitcher into it. He leans over to splash the water on his face, hoping the cold will shock the sleepiness out of him. “I have to talk to Michael today about how we’re going to handle the prisoners. We don’t exactly need more mouths to feed but I can’t just let them go if they could find us again. Two of them are causing a lot of trouble, and I can’t tell what’s going on with the third.” He dries off with a scrap of an old towel and straightens, looking at his dad. “Is there something else you wanted?”

“I missed you. Is that all right?”

Hugh sighs, but smiles too. “Yeah.” He leans over to give his dad a hug. “I missed you too. Aren’t you lonely out there at the cabin? Come join us on the beach. There’s plenty of room to build.”

“I’ve been living out there for fifteen years, enjoying my own company. Best years of my life. You know that.”

Since Hugh left the island for a while to travel as a young adult, Tyno’s been on his own. He’s been through a lot. Hugh’s mom leaving. The mobsters who were shaking him down for money, eventually leading him to take Hugh to the sea in the middle of the night twenty years ago. Although Tyno preferred the relative safety of the uncontrolled islands, he never did acclimate to the communal nature of pirate life.

“I’m glad you’re happy, Dad,” Hugh says, shaking his head. “I’ll never understand how you can like being alone out there though.”

 

***

 

“Okay, I know you imperial types hate a real day’s work, but that’s what we do here,” Tilly says, putting on her sternest voice, feeling like she’s playing at being an authority.

The prisoners are sullen and grumpy, even after their meal of nuts and fruit—Tilly’s favorite breakfast. That’s fine, though. They don’t have to like being here.

“Today we’re going down to the ocean pokeroot garden and we’re harvesting. We eat a lot of pokeroot here; it’s really good with a pink mango sauce. You have to stand in the water, but it’s going to be a hot day. Some other folks will be there harvesting with us. Let’s go!”

She leads the way down from the common house toward the south. 

The sun is well above the horizon by now. Tilly enjoys the feeling of her clothes, a big floppy hat made of palm leaves, her favorite orange collared shirt with the sleeves torn off, and a soft knee-length red wrap skirt. For the moment, she also enjoys the sun on her shoulders; she’ll have to sit under the shade for the rest of the day.

Looking back at the prisoners, she just catches the brown-haired guy making a throat-slitting gesture at the blond one.

“Hey! I saw that!” she yells with as much intimidation as she can muster. She’s glad Michael’s down at the pokeroot garden today, too. She chews on her lip.  _ At least I hope Michael’s there _ .

She is, and that’s good. They put the prisoners to work in the water, pulling the pokeroots from their stalks and throwing them into floating bins. 

Tilly prefers to work in the water on these hot days, but they can’t give the prisoners knives for the slicing work. Instead, she works alongside Reno and Joann under a shaded lean-to. They cut the pokeroot into smaller pieces, which they’ll store in huge clay pots full of boiled seawater in the common house for later use. Michael has their wheelbarrow to ferry the pokeroot between the shore and the slicing station, and is otherwise supervising the prisoners.

“Stop right there!” Michael suddenly yells, piercing the quiet morning. A moment later, Tilly hears the wheelbarrow tip over into the sand with a thud.

The prisoners are wrestling in the water, and Michael’s already splashing over to reach them.

Tilly drops her pokeroot back in the bucket and races down the beach and into the water behind Michael.

“Hey! Hey!” she shouts ineffectually, then realizes she’s still brandishing her pokeroot knife. She throws herself into the middle of the fray, her knife held in front of her. “Stop what you’re doing or someone’s gonna get stabbed.”

The blond one - Paul, right? Must be - struggles in the grasp of Quinn and Landry, glaring at her. “Are  _ you _ going to stab  _ me _ ? I’m the one who can’t move,” he snaps, brows knitted together.

“Stop,” Michael interjects, twisting Quinn’s arm, deftly squeezing to get him to release his grip. “Listen, everyone pulls their weight here. The time you spend fighting amongst yourselves is time you get to stay late on the beach and work.” She puts her hand on the hilt of her dagger for additional emphasis; she’s not playing around.

Quinn and Landry finally, reluctantly, shove Paul away from them. He stumbles, catching himself from falling by putting a hand down under the water, to the sandy beach.

“You don’t own us,” Landry growls at Michael.

Sadness flickers across Michael’s face; Tilly hopes no one else can tell. “No, you’re right,” Michael concedes, though she maintains her stern tone. “We don’t own you. We’ll never own you. But you can’t leave, because that puts us in danger. We just ask you pitch in, and to not  _ hurt _ anyone.”

“Pretty words,” Landry mocks her. “But I’m not playing your games.” She mimes wiping off her hands and stalks for the shore. She sits on the sand, crossing her legs in front of her, and waits.

Tilly narrows her eyes. Landry’s practically daring her and Michael to come at her. 

Quinn laughs and splashes over to the shore to join his friend. 

Tilly starts to go after him, but Michael puts a hand on Tilly’s forearm. “Let them go. They’ll see what happens to moochers.”

“Are you going to do anything about them?”

Michael and Tilly face Paul, who’s gesticulating at Quinn and Landry with wildly moving hands. “They want me dead. You know that, right? He tried to stab me yesterday. Do you even care?”

“Of course,” Tilly says immediately, and Michael’s hand lands on her forearm again.

“Hold on,” she says firmly as she turns to Paul. “They tried to  _ stab _ you?”

Paul rolls his eyes. “Those dunkers over there have wanted nothing more than to see me suffer for years. Now we’re the only ones to survive a shipwreck and they still can only think about how much they want me dead. Yes, they came after me with a shiv yesterday when we were in your brig.”

Michael bites her lip, eyes narrowing in barely contained anger. “I knew there was an attack but nobody told me there was a  _ knife. _ There’s no reason they should be anywhere near each other,” she says to Tilly, in a none-too-quiet voice. “Did Hugh order this?”

“I don’t know,” Tilly says, her cheeks burning. Was she supposed to have known to put them to work separately?

“I’m going to talk to Hugh. You keep working.”

“What about me?” Paul interjects irritably.

Michael waves him off. “Just stay away from those two. Listen to Tilly. Don’t cause any more problems.”

Tilly watches her friend stalk off. Reno and Joann are in the process of moving their pokeroot processing a bit closer to the prisoners.

She looks back at Paul. He’s still glaring at her.

She shrugs. “I’m going to finish cutting up the pokeroot we already have. You can keep harvesting or not.”

“Do you have a hat I can wear?” he asks. “I burn easily. I’m sure you know how it is,” he adds dryly, gesturing to her own hat.

“Uh, no, not at the moment. You can come sit under our shade though.”

 

***

 

Hugh comes down to the beach later with Michael to speak to Landry and Quinn. Paul notes that he’s sipping a beverage from a cup like the ones they all used at dinner last night: a woody tube with bulbous outgrowths, sealed at one end with clay. It’s strangely ugly but probably very practical.

Hugh and Michael are addressing the two imperial officers in low voices. Michael’s face is twisted with disgust as Hugh talks. Are his captors sticking up for him, or putting him at further risk?

He’s curious, but not curious enough to get closer. 

_ You’d still be floating at sea or even drowned if it wasn’t for them,  _ an annoying part of himself argues.

Quinn and Landry have been subtly making life difficult for him for years now. With Captain Lorca on their side, only the influence of the first officer and others on board who valued his work as navigator had kept him safe.

_ And what would I do if I managed to escape?  _

What would he do if Quinn and Landry found him again?

What will he do if they catch him alone here?

So far these pirates don’t quite seem like the stories he’s heard – amoral renegades who plunder, pillage, murder, and more… But maybe this is part of their plan to soften him up.

Quinn and Landry get to their feet. Michael yanks Landry’s arms behind her back and ties her wrists with rope, while Hugh does the same with Quinn. Then they march them up toward the common house.

“Those stuck up navy bastards. Wouldn’t know how to respect a person if their own mamas taught ‘em. Hope they enjoy their nuts and water diet,” Reno remarks. She catches Paul’s eye. “Something tells me you’re a bit different.”

“I’ve been in the navy for fifteen years,” Paul says, drawing himself up straighter under her gaze. “It’s about respect, and exploration, and protecting the empire.” He’s reciting lines like he’s been taught, even though in any other circumstance he’d be listing off the navy’s faults. He really only joined to explore.

Reno laughs. “I’m sure that’s what they tell you.” She appraises him, no doubt seeing the raggedness of his black and grays, the figure he cuts that’s anything but imposing. He scowls.

“You don’t think you’ve been doing anything wrong,” she continues, her voice hardening. “The Empire slaughtered most of my last crew. I used to work short cargo hauls on the southeast coast, just outside their waters. One day, it was real foggy, and two of their ships came up on us and started firing. Probably we’d navigated poorly, or they didn’t know they were out of their territory. It didn’t matter to them. Some of us made it out on rowboats, my wife and me among them. The fog was so thick they couldn’t see what they were doing. But they’d decided we were the enemy.”

“You must have done something to antagonize the navy,” Paul says, a creeping feeling of dread stirring up in his chest. “We don’t fire for no reason. Were you pirates? Were you carrying stolen goods? ”

Reno snorts derisively. “I told you, most likely we crossed their imaginary line and they got angrier than a swarm of poison dart bees.”

She has to be holding something back. He’d never seen any ship he was on do something like this. They always had a good reason. “Maybe you’re just looking for a reason not to feel guilty about your crew dying.”

Reno’s mouth drops open and her eyes narrow. “You’re really going to argue with me? Right now?”

Tilly sighs loudly. “Reno, it’s not worth it.”

“Well, if he didn’t go around accusing me of deserving to be fired on, I wouldn’t bother,” Reno says. “Nobody deserves that sort of treatment.”

Paul opens his mouth to argue some more, but Tilly’s intense glare cuts into him and he leaves it alone.

 

The ocean pokeroot crew stops work in the early afternoon. Tilly and Joann escort Paul back to the common house and sit him in the corner opposite where Quinn and Landry are now stationed. 

Joann sits at a table in the middle of the room, knife on display there in front of her. She’d be a fierce figure, her sleeveless shirt putting her arm muscles on full display, and face set in an intimidating blankness as she watches over them. Except that within moments, a friend comes into the space and starts talking with her, making her light up with laughter.

Since when has anyone ever approached Paul in that same spirit of excitement and friendship? Is it all the stealing and murdering and lawlessness that makes these pirates so happy?

He realizes that he’s just sighed heavily. He’s  _ jealous _ .

He bites his lip and steers his thoughts back toward the prospect of escape. It wouldn’t be hard to slip out of this building unnoticed, but where would he  _ go _ ?

So far, the pirates have stepped in on multiple occasions to protect him from Quinn and Landry. If he escapes, and they escape, he’s rather defenseless.

But he can’t stay here. This isn’t home. He belongs at sea, the boat swaying beneath his feet, gazing up at the dozens of stars he can see on a clear dark night, guiding them by the bright light of the North Moon hanging steady in the sky.

Here, the ground is solid beneath his feet and he has to decide what to do next. If he gets back to the navy, that decision no longer exists. He just goes where  _ he _ takes the ship. At the captain’s direction, of course.

Paul stares down at his hands, below which are the ragged gray sleeves of his once clean-pressed uniform.

If he stays here, what on Hashules will he do?

He fidgets through the hours. No one talks to him. He eavesdrops on the conversations and realizes how rarely anyone in his navy life ever spoke to him with the same affection. He hears them joke about raiding navy ships and leaving them adrift with no supplies.  _ How can they find that funny? _

But hadn’t he laughed at all the jokes about throwing pirates in the brig without food and water, letting them suffer for days, as if they deserved it? Even if that sort of treatment would disgust him?

He doesn’t find any rest from these thoughts during dinner, or when Joann takes him back to shelter for the night, tying his arms to the post, leaving him to think and think and think until he falls into a restless sleep.

 

***

 

The next day, it’s Hugh’s rotation on pokeroot duty. Even though Hugh has assured Paul that Quinn and Landry are still refusing to work, and are under close watch elsewhere, he seems jumpy, distracted. He’s also not talking back to anyone, strangely quiet for such a snappish man.

Hugh has plenty of time to watch Paul, draped in a shawl to protect him from the sun, work quietly in the water with Saru. Paul works mechanically but slowly. Occasionally Saru offers Paul suggestions for harvesting better, which Paul incorporates, so Hugh sees him improving significantly over the day.

Paul looks up the beach at one point, piercing blue eyes against pale skin framed by the gray shawl, and Hugh’s breath catches.

He really is unfairly gorgeous, for being the enemy.

When Saru and Paul stop for the day and come up the beach for the last time, Saru remarks, “He is a remarkably quick learner for someone who’s never harvested before.”

“Thank you for your work, Paul,” Hugh says. “We really appreciate your contributions.”

A ghost of a smile crosses Paul’s face. He nods.

 

***

Working all day with the calm and steady Saru is very grounding mentally. Something to do, something to focus on, a task to accomplish. But emotionally, he’s completely unmoored.

Is he just going to stay here harvesting pokeroot until he dies? It doesn’t even taste that good, as he’d discovered at last night’s dinner. 

No. This isn’t the life he worked for. He needs to set his own direction.

When Saru leaves him with Keyla in the common house, hands tied but only to themselves, Paul can’t stop scanning for an escape. When Keyla goes to fetch a cup of water, Paul seizes the opportunity, slipping out the corner of the structure and running around the side toward the forest, away from the pirates working near the beach.

He wants to stop and get his bearings, but he’ll be noticed. So he runs deeper into the trees. He has to dodge or jump over low-lying shrubs of thick glossy green leaves.

He’s maybe a few minutes into the forest when he hears shouts from the direction of the common house.

_ What am I doing? I can’t get off the island by running into the middle of it! _

But there’s nowhere to go but forward. Maybe if he can disappear until nightfall he can develop a better plan. So he continues.

The air is cooler back here. Less sunlight to hit the skin. With a bit of the ocean tide noise receding, the birdcalls are clearer, their “ooo-waa” sounds echoing off the palm trees above him.

Sand is starting to fill his boots; he must have large holes in them somewhere. He grimaces at the gritty feeling against his bare feet.

_ Clang! Clang! Clang!  _ Now they’ve sounded an alarm. And still he runs, even as he’s starting to gasp from the exertion.

Suddenly his foot twists under him, and he faceplants into the sand.

“Owwwww,” Paul moans, pushing himself upright enough to get his face out of the sand. Pain shoots up his ankle as he finishes leveraging himself into a sitting position. He blinks a few times, embarrassed, trying to brush sand off his face and hands. He needs to find something to get this rope off. But later.  


Nothing seems broken.

Behind him, a low gray rock juts a few inches out of the sand. “Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, rotating his ankle carefully.

He half-expects to hear dogs barking in the distance, guiding the pirates to his pathetic figure sitting in the sand.

He looks ahead. If he can get onto the rocky hill, at least his path will be obscured. And he hasn’t seen any dogs here that could track him.

He gingerly maneuvers to his feet. No more running. He just needs to keep moving. Then he can double back at night, steal a rowboat, and head out to sea. Back home.

Somehow, although Paul hears the shouts of the pirates looking for him, and occasionally sees a lantern or torch lighting the beach and forest below, they never do find him.

As he walks in the setting sun, sawing at his bonds with a shard of rock, the cool ocean air begins to bite at his exposed skin under his tattered uniform. Maybe they don’t care enough to come after him after all. 


	3. Learning the Ropes

Tyno, settled in his favorite chair, is enjoying the early morning breeze against his skin when he glimpses something moving in the left corner of his vision.

He blinks and looks along the edge of the woods bordering his cabin and garden. Nothing.

“Hmpf,” he mutters. Damn old eyes showing him ghosts.

But  _ there it is again _ , a light-colored blur along with the distinctive noise of a broken twig, now moving further away from him on the left.

“You there, in the woods! Show yourself!” Tyno shouts, propelling himself to his feet. It’s not like any of their people to skulk around the edges of places. Everyone knows how he feels about his privacy. Everyone knows he hates surprises. 

The blur disappears.

“I’m not toying with you,” he says. “Come out here. Stop sneaking around.”

Silence.

He groans, suddenly remembering yesterday’s emergency bells. What if this is an escaped prisoner? 

He grabs his shovel from next to the door, circumnavigating his garden as he approaches the edge of the woods.

“Whoever you are, it’s going to be a lot worse for you if you don’t show yourself right now,” he says, lifting the blade of the shovel over his shoulder as he stops next to a waist-high hedge of echo raspberries, the near side just beginning to fruit. 

If he has to smash this hedge to bits, he will.

The cisanium bush to his right snaps, and he whirls, extending the shovel blade in front of him.

At the same time an unfamiliar man shoots up from behind the bush. “Don’t hit me!” he pleads, hands held up, raspberry juice staining his fingertips

Tyno scowls, lowering the shovel slightly. “I don’t want to hit you, you skulking dunker, but you better tell me what you’re doing here right now.”

The blond man is wearing a worn gray jacket with black buttons and black pants with a gray stripe. The Izosrinate navy uniform. He’d hoped not to see any of those ever again.

“I was  _ trying _ to run away,” the man says, sighing heavily. “And then I gave up, and I was only trying to eat something.”

Tyno appraises him. He doesn’t appear to be armed, and he certainly doesn’t seem very threatening, or even capable of lying about his skills. He’s probably that prisoner Hugh mentioned who was more of an enigma. He’d like to think that, over the years, he’s developed a decent quick judgement about people’s characters. So he gestures toward the beach. “I wouldn’t be too sad if you disappeared. Ocean’s that way.”

The blond man carefully lowers his hands. “I’m probably going to stick around for the time being.”

“Why’s that?”

He shrugs. “Running off wasn’t very sensible.”

“Being a prisoner isn’t any fun,” Tyno says. “Running away is  _ very _ sensible, in my opinion.”

“Where would I run  _ to _ ?” the man continues, looking up into the trees. “I’d have to steal a seaworthy boat from somewhere else, something I could actually steer, and then travel for  _ days  _ or  _ weeks _ to get back to the continent. I’m a lousy fisherman, so I’d probably starve to death. And what would I do back in the empire? Go back into the navy? Was I even happy there?”

Tyno bites back a laugh. “It doesn’t seem like this is a conversation you should have with me.”

The blond man looks at him suddenly, as if he’d forgotten Tyno was there. “No, I guess not,” he concedes.

“There’s not much I can do from here,” Tyno explains. “I can ring my emergency bell but it takes them a while to get all the way over here. You can walk back, or keep running, I guess. But I’ll search you for weapons first.” 

The man shrugs. “Fine.” He steps out from behind the cisanium and lets Tyno pat him down.

“You’re a fool, not being armed,” Tyno says, coming up with nothing.

“I never had a tactical mind,” he replies, stepping back. “Did my basic weapons training and then - I never really kept up with it.” He sighs. “I guess I’m going to walk back to the camp.”

“Path is over there, to the right. Tell them Tyno says hello.”

The blond man nods at Tyno and heads right, around the edge of the garden.

Once the man’s disappeared, Tyno heads back to his chair. What a morning. He relaxes into the familiar wood slats and closes his eyes.

A nearby rustling jolts him upright moments later, but he barely has time to react before a sack is thrown over his head and a blunt object drains the consciousness from him. 

_ I should’ve known. _

 

***

 

The morning dawns cool and damp. Hugh is exhausted by the events of the evening: the escape, their failure to exert proper control or security over the prisoners, the uncertainty, the knowledge that their safety depends on keeping all of the prisoners until they can safely repatriate them. If they  _ can _ safely return them. So he slept fitfully and anxiously until his scheduled early morning meeting with Michael in the common house.

“No boats are missing,” Michael reports as she blinks away her own sleepiness. “The search crew lost the trail over land, and then it got too dark to pick up tracks anyway. But we had people watching the boats overnight, and there was no sign of any attempt to steal one.”

Hugh nods. “That’s good. I guess we just… wait.”

Reno and Soyu are on breakfast duty this morning, and in a substantially better mood than usual, singing sea shanties and laughing uproariously in the cooking area.

“At least someone’s having a good time,” Hugh grouses, scratching some dried sauce off the tabletop.

Michael puts a comforting hand on his shoulder as she gets up. “Let me grab you some tea.”

Hugh nods and blinks wearily as she heads for the cooking area. Michael perks up, laughing and joking with Reno and Soyu as she prepares the tea.

He’s let everyone down by not bringing them the supplies they could use, let alone bringing new mouths to feed, new mouths that are running off and putting the whole community at risk. His fingers are itching to go back to sea, try to find some real loot, make up for anything, instead of just sitting here, waiting. But wait he must.

“Here, I put some rum in your tea. I thought it might help.” Michael slides a mug in front of him, the sweet aromas of ribwort, raspberry leaf, and rum wafting deliciously toward his nose.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Hugh says, squeezing her hand before she relinquishes the mug.

Michael sits down across from him with her own drink.

“Damn, Michael, how much rum did you put in yours?” Hugh laughs. “I can smell it from here.”

“I don’t need parenting from you, Hugh,” she says, jokingly indignant.

“You don’t drink,” he points out. “Are you all right?”

“I  _ almost _ never drink.”

They sip their tea in silence.

The rum is beginning to work on him; a little less focus on their immediate issues, a little more listening to the rustling of the palm trees and the morning squawks of the parrots, and the giggles of Reno and her wife…

And the shouting of their friend Tilly.

“Michael! Hugh! He’s back! He’s back!”

She runs into the building and right up to them, loose curly hair flying behind her, slapping her hands down on the table.

“Paul came back!”

Michael’s eyebrow arches way up as she and Hugh look at each other.

“What?”  _ Since when does a prisoner turn himself back in? _

“Just walked into camp - from Tyno’s direction,” Tilly gasps out between heavy breaths. “Joann’s bringing him over.”

A few minutes later, Joann, holding Paul firmly by his upper right arm, enters the common house, leading him right up to the table next to Tilly. He seems to be limping a bit.

Joann nods at them. “I’m heading back to my post. You all have this under control?”

“Yes, thanks, Joann. Much appreciated.” Once Joann has left, he just looks at Paul. He seems… contrite. Confused? And still completely stubborn, glaring into space, not at anyone in particular.

Hugh sighs. This is probably another trap. “Where are Quinn and Landry?”

Paul startles, eyes widening. “What? Why would I know where they are?”

“You ran off at the same time. Don’t try to tell me this wasn’t your plan all along.” Hugh gets to his feet in an attempt to intimidate, all square shoulders, hard eyes, mouth set in a firm line. “You tried to get on our good side so we’d hold you separately. And then they took advantage of the commotion you created to also run away.”

Paul’s mouth drops open in apparent shock. “No. No! That was real. They did try to kill me. They ran away? How could I know they’d be able to escape at the same time as me? Plus, if I’d known they were running around in the forest, I would have felt better staying here.” He looks down, stretches his left leg out a few inches above the ground, and rotates his ankle carefully, frowning. 

Hugh looks over at Michael, who shrugs at him before standing, putting her hands on her hips. “You’re telling us you didn’t plan this,” she says skeptically.

“Yes!” Paul exclaims, looking at them each in turn. “I’ve been trying to avoid them for years. They’ve never liked me. But they kept it to petty bullying onboard the ship. I didn’t know they wanted to hurt me. And yes, I want to leave. But not with them. Or by getting myself killed.” He fixes his gaze on Hugh now, wide blue eyes boring into his own. “You have to believe me. I wouldn’t lie to you about this.”

_ What would you lie to me about _ ?

Hugh sighs, looking back to Michael. He has no idea what to do. Thankfully, she takes charge.

“I believe you,” Michael says. “I wanted to run away when I came here too.”

“You were a prisoner too?” Paul exclaims.

“We should talk sometime,” she says. “But not now. If you’re not collaborating with Landry and Quinn, you can prove it and help us find them. If they escape, they can bring the navy back here and destroy our community.”

“What will you do if you find them?” Paul insists. “Kill them? Lock them up? What will you do with me?”

Hugh snorts. “We don’t like holding prisoners. We don’t want to. But we don’t let people die at sea. Sometimes we take prisoners back to neutral ports. We can do that for you, and for them. So if you help us find Landry and Quinn, it will be safer for them, and for you, and you can return.”

Paul looks around at them, rubbing his thumbs against his other fingers at his sides. “I don’t know what they’re doing. I don’t have any great insights about them. But if I can help, I will. I want my freedom.”

_ You can be free here _ , Hugh is surprised to find himself thinking.

 

***

 

“I want my freedom,” Paul says, and then hears himself saying it. Isn’t that what the pirates had been indicating? That  _ this _ place was freedom to them?

Michael had basically just told him he couldn’t be set free if he could lead anyone back to this island. True, there are thousands of islands out here in the archipelago, and the Izosrinate Empire doesn’t have a complete map, let alone knowledge of which factions or communities lived on which islands. Secrecy is survival, whether it was a secret Izosrinati shipbuilding port or a pirate village.

But if Paul chooses to stay here, as Michael had said she did, he could be free. For their definition of free, he supposes.

_ Was I free in the navy? _

He’s actually never contemplated that.

Michael and Hugh are conferring quietly several feet away, but his thoughts stop abruptly when they look directly at him.

“What?” he snaps. 

Michael moves a few steps closer. “We need to develop a plan. We don’t know if your fellow sailors are still on the island. We think they are, but we don’t know what they’re willing to do. If they were willing to risk swimming for the next island, they could be very hard for us to find. They’re also likely to drown at sea, as it’s a long way, but there’s a possibility.”

Paul considers this, what little he knows of them other than their disdain for him. “I can’t imagine they’d try to swim for it. Although they are decent swimmers.”

Michael nods. “I’ll pull together search teams. You’ll join one of them. In the meantime, help make breakfast with Reno and Soyu.”

Paul swallows back his sigh. He’d be more than happy never to see Quinn and Landry again. This is the price he’s paying. He nods back to her, and sees Hugh nod back at him.

He turns toward the kitchen but pain shoots up his leg at the twisting motion. “I twisted my ankle, when I was… running from you. I don’t suppose you have medics here?”

Hugh nods. “That’s me. Let me take a look before I go get ready.” He says to Michael, “I’ll take care of this, you go work on those search teams,” and she quickly departs.

“Can you walk a couple minutes?” Paul nods. “Come back to my cabin, I’ve got my whole medical kit there.” They head down the beach toward the south end of the bay, Hugh walking slowly to allow Paul to keep up. After a minute, he leads them into the trees. Hugh’s cabin is just inside the treeline, a squat little cabin with two jagged windows of broken glass set perfectly into the walls. He opens the door and ushers Paul inside.

“Sit on the bed,” Hugh instructs. 

As he does so, Paul admires the multicolored tapestries, drawings, and carvings that decorate the tiny space. The brightness seems both tacky and so  _ alive _ . “You like art,” he observes.

Hugh smiles. “We have to like beautiful things, don’t we? I never felt like, when I was a kid, that beauty was celebrated. Here, I think we try to find beauty in all sorts of things.”

“I’m not much into art,” Paul admits, his eyes suddenly falling on a tiny carved figure of a woman holding up a moon, standing on a little shelf on the wall. “But I do like that one.”

Hugh sees where Paul is looking, and smiles again. “What do you like about it?” Hugh pulls an open wooden box from under his bed, next to Paul’s feet, and rustles through it.

“I’ve spent a lot of time on the sea. I always feel… at home, under the moons. Like if I just follow them, I can go anywhere.” Before he can stop himself, he adds, “Being under the sky, under the moons - I feel safe.” He wants to tell Hugh about being a navigator, but if the pirates know he’s good at those things, he’s worried he’s going to be under closer watch, or they won’t trust him. So he leaves his little speech there.

Hugh pulls a roll of cloth strips from the box. As he looks up at Paul, his expression is serious, though his eyes are soft, unsuspicious, unaccusing. “That’s really beautiful. I know what you mean.”

Paul shrugs, feeling himself blush. The silence that follows is weighty with some emotions he isn’t sure how to articulate. He’s said too much.

Finally, Hugh drops his gaze back to Paul’s foot. “Take off your boot, and I’ll wrap up your ankle really tight. You won’t have much range of motion but it’ll hold everything steady while you heal.”

When Paul removes his boot, a little shower of sand falls onto the carpet. “Sorry,” he says. “I need new boots, I guess.”

Now all he can do is watch Hugh work. He wraps the strips around Paul’s ankle and foot carefully, stopping and unwrapping, rewrapping, occasionally asking Paul how it feels. After a few minutes, he seems satisfied, and ties off the ends, patting the side of Paul’s leg gently when he’s done. An odd, personal gesture for a doctor. “There you go.” Hugh puts the rest of the roll back in the box, shoving it under the bed. “You should be good. If it starts hurting more, though, you probably need to stay off your foot for a while.”

Paul rotates his foot, the pain only a slight ache now. “Thank you.”

“I’ll walk you back for kitchen duty. Reno and Soyu are there now and they’ll put you to work.”

As Paul watches Hugh stand up, he realizes what made the earlier silence so heavy. Hugh reminds him of someone he’s not allowed himself to think about in a long time.

The walk back to the common house and Reno assigning Paul to cook the vegetables occurs in a haze of Paul’s memories. He stands over the skillet, barely present to the loving banter between the two women.

In those early years, being at sea was magic: waking up each morning before dawn, eating his ration of dried fish and hardtack, getting dressed in his uniform he kept meticulously pressed. Walking on deck in the dim light, tracking their heading and speed in his log book, getting orders from the chief navigator. The routine. It kept him going. He always had a purpose.

For a while, he’d had another purpose, too. 

Aoito was one of the low-level crew on the  _ Buran  _ when Paul had first joined the ship. He was short, strong, wiry, climbed the rigging like it was nothing. Paul loved working on deck when he was there just to watch his athleticism. But Paul had always been afraid to get to know him, leaving their relationship at polite nods at shift change.

Once, the  _ Buran _ had anchored offshore of a deserted island to fish and gather food. Aoito had caught a huge fish, and smoked it over a fire on the beach. Paul remembers the way his heart raced when Aoito presented him with a large chunk of the fish. Their fingers brushed slightly as he handed it over, sending a jolt down his spine. 

By that point, it had been years since Paul had touched another human being except in the course of work.

It would have been the height of inappropriateness, and probably bad for his ability to stay on the ship and at sea, to acknowledge how much he wanted this, to take action.

Still, one night they ran into each other in the corridor, Paul coming off shift, Aoito on an errand for supplies. Their mutual attraction hung in the air, manifesting as a profound awkwardness, both of them blushing but not moving away from each other. Finally, Aoito grabbed his hand and pulled Paul into his cabin, which was mercifully empty. For a little while they lost themselves in each other. Until Aoito pulled away, noting that he was still on shift, and Lorca would kill him if he knew.

That had been it.

Aoito left the navy for a merchant vessel a couple weeks later, not even saying goodbye. Paul watched him walk down the dock and knew he’d never stop kicking himself for not doing  _ something _ sooner. Even though he also knew his choice had made sense.

He sighs loudly as he flips the root vegetables. He replays those passionate moments in his brain all the time, trying to remind himself that something good existed for him then.

Hugh’s taller, more muscular, wears his emotions openly. Not much like Aoito. But again, he’s someone giving Paul a chance here, a chance Paul can’t imagine he deserves.  _ Why _ ?

By the time breakfast is ready, and Paul sits down under the watchful eye of Reno and Soyu, he’s opened up something in his heart he might never be able to shut away again.

 

***

 

After breakfast, Hugh, Reno, Tilly, and Paul form the search party for the southern end of the island, searching inland. Other pairs of scouts have fanned out along the edges of the island to keep an eye out for an ocean escape. Nearly everyone is on this mission.

It’s really not how Hugh wanted to spend his day.

When Reno arrives on the beach with her parrot, Ripper, Hugh briefly contemplates just walking off.

“You’re bringing  _ Ripper _ ?” Hugh demands, drawing his hand down his face in frustration. Ripper is noisy and hungry and more than likely going to eliminate any chance they have of sneaking up on the escapees. “No.”

“Oh, come on, Hugh, he’s very good at ripping things,” Reno says. “Like an eyeball, out of a navy jerk’s head.” She mimes the action of a beak ripping with her finger and thumb, staring Hugh straight in the eye. Waiting for him to give in.

“ _ Fine _ ,” Hugh says impatiently. “We need to get going. Keep him  _ quiet _ .”

Tilly points down the beach. “This way.”

When they arrive at the path into the woods, Paul says, “This is where I came through.”

“Did you see any trace of other people?”

“Well, sure, it does look like a well used path.” Paul raises his eyebrows at Hugh. “I saw  _ a lot _ of footprints.”

“Okay, did you see any navy boot prints?”

“I wasn’t really looking for them, you know, what with just trying to come back here to turn myself in,” Paul retorts.

Hugh rolls his eyes. No one is going to make this any easier than possible.

Fortunately, Ripper stays shockingly quiet on Reno’s shoulder, and Paul remains alert, and Tilly doesn’t talk too much. In fact, they make it all the way to his dad’s house without seeing any sign of the prisoners.

Hugh looks around the clearing. No sign of his dad in the garden.

He motions for the group to follow him.

And then flings his arm out for them to stop.

His dad’s chair has fallen sideways in front of the cabin door. It’s always to the right of the door. There’s no reason to move it. Particularly if he’s not even outside.

“Wait,” he whispers, drawing his knife.

He feels someone move behind him. It’s Paul, now standing just to his right.

“I spoke to that guy, when I was here,” he murmurs. “He saw me trying to sneak past. He was fine then.”

“ _ That guy _ is my dad,” Hugh grumbles, sighing and motioning to Reno. Paul’s chastened expression doesn’t escape him, but he has no time to deal with him right now. “You and me, we’re going inside.” He points his knife first at Tilly, then Paul. “You watch for runners. Don’t let them get past you.”

Hugh and Reno head the long way around the garden to reduce the chance of them being seen. Hugh cringes at every crunch they make on dried grass or fallen tree bark. When they’ve circled around to the cabin, Hugh crawls under the window to the far side of the door and Reno stands ready on the near side.

“One, two, three,” Hugh mouths at her, and then he pushes the door open gently. Stepping over the chair, he creeps inside.

The cabin is empty. No one behind the door, no one under Tyno’s bed or in his storage cabinet. Indeed, no sign that anyone’s been here other than his dad.

“I don’t like this,” Hugh says, tapping his foot anxiously. “I really don’t like this.”

“We’ll find him, don’t worry,” Reno says in a rare moment of seriousness.

He nods, feeling panic creeping in anyway.

“And then Ripper will tear out those navy assholes’ eyeballs and eat them.”


	4. Taking a Different Tack

Paul watches Hugh and Reno come back out of the cabin, shaking their heads, Hugh putting the chair upright next to the door before they return to the group.

"How are we going to tell everyone what's going on?" Tilly asks.

Hugh bites his lip, eyes scanning the area. "We need to stay alert. We don't know where my dad is, we still don't know where Quinn and Landry are, and we don’t know if they're armed."

Reno feeds a green leaf from her pocket to Ripper. "I could send Ripper back with a message."

Paul cocks an eyebrow at her skeptically.

Reno snorts. "Ripper's no ordinary parrot, and you ought to keep that in mind."

Hugh scribbles down a note on a scrap of parchment, rolls it up, and hands it to Reno, who ties it to Ripper's leg with twine.

"Go home, boy." Reno taps Ripper lightly on the left wing, and the bright blue and green bird takes off, swooping back around to head toward the main camp."All right, where to next?" she asks Hugh.

"First, we spread out and comb this area for tracks and signs," Hugh says, "then we make a plan."

Ten minutes later, as they're finishing pacing the perimeter of Hugh’s dad’s land, two differently-toned bells clang erratically from the direction of camp. Reno, Tilly, and Hugh stop and listen, faces turned up toward the sky, lost in apparent interpretation of what seems to be a code.

Paul listens too, trying to parse the rhythm and tones according to some of the codes he knows, but it’s a lot to analyze spontaneously.

Tilly steps closer to him after the bells fall silent. “It’s a missing person alert,” she murmurs. “Potential hostage situation.”

“Okay. Now, where would they go?” Hugh asks in a tight voice, rubbing his eyes with his left hand. He’s grimacing like he’s hurt, but then Paul realizes he’s really just consumed with worry.

“A hostage is only useful for bargaining.” Reno is staring down the path back toward camp. “I don’t think they can use Tyno anywhere except at the docks. To try to get themselves a boat.” She looks over at Paul suddenly, narrowing her eyes. “Or the whole ship.”

“Don’t look at me,” Paul snaps. “I don’t want your lousy old ship.”

Tilly steps between them. “Hey, you two. This isn’t helping. But I think Reno’s right. Tyno doesn’t help the prisoners unless they can exchange him for safe passage out of here.”

“They could just take him along as further protection from us trying to track them down!” Hugh exclaims loudly, and Paul starts to feel some of his panic. Tilly rubs Hugh’s back with one hand, shushing him softly. Chastened, he continues in a barely measured voice, “We need to get back to camp, right now. We need to reorganize.”

Reno nods. “Let’s go.” She takes the lead as they return the way they came, the calls of the squawkers punctuating the otherwise tense silence. Every step is careful, their movements measured, their eyes alert. Reno has her sword out, followed by Tilly brandishing the small axe she’s been carrying. Hugh has knives in both hands, bringing up the rear of the group, but Paul’s starting to feel vulnerable, unarmed.

They stop while Reno and Tilly check around a sharp bend in the path. “Can I at least have something to protect myself with?” Paul whispers over his shoulder to Hugh.

There’s soft rustling for several seconds. Finally, Hugh taps his elbow; Paul startles at the touch and looks down. Hugh’s holding out an even smaller knife. More of a pocketknife than anything, but it’s better than only having to rely on his ability to disarm opponents.

“Thanks.” Hugh clasps Paul’s elbow briefly as he pulls his hand back, and again, Paul recoils slightly, but a shiver runs through him at the same time. These people and their  _ touching. _

Reno signals for them to follow her.

The entire way back to camp, there’s no sign of anyone else. On the beach, other teams are emerging from other paths and converging on the common house.

Trudging across the beach, Paul reflects on the irony that Quinn and Landry are some of his least favorite people, besides Lorca, and that somehow they were the only others to survive the attack. Now he’s pledged specifically to seek them out.

Grains of sand are working their way up through the damaged sole of his boot, rubbing at the soles of his feet. If he learned to swim better, maybe more like Quinn or Landry, he could really take advantage of the bay here. Maybe he could learn…

“Hey, hold up!” he shouts. Reno and Tilly turn to look at him, slowing down but not stopping. “Can Tyno swim?”

“He’s really bad at swimming,” Hugh says. “Kind of afraid of the water, actually. Makes it all the more amazing we ever got this far -”

“We need to watch for them in the water, trying to approach the ship from the other side. Maybe they don’t even go for a rowboat.”

“What? How would my dad do that?”

Paul shakes his head, feeling increasingly frustrated. “Landry has rescued people who went overboard before. She’s a very powerful swimmer. She could drag your father all the way to a boat. Especially if he was unconscious. How many people are watching the north edge of the bay, closest to the anchor point?”

Reno stops, circling around a startled Tilly to stride up to Paul. “Maybe a couple people. I don’t remember the whole–”

“We need to go down there right now,” Paul insists. “We need to be ready to stop them before they get in the water.”

“Paul.” He turns to face Hugh. “I appreciate your passion, I do, but we’ve got a whole island to search.”

Paul rolls his eyes. “You asked for my help and I’m giving it. I’m telling you there’s no need to search the whole island. They’ll bring Tyno to us.”

“Well, are they stupid enough to try to take a boat in broad daylight?” Hugh retorts, his voice rising. “And lest you forget, this is my  _ father _ you’re talking about. I can’t just abandon him to your officers’ whims until nightfall, no matter what your strategic opinion is.”

Paul takes in the anger and passion on Hugh’s face, the urgency in his voice, the way Hugh is throwing his hands up in the air like he doesn’t know what to do. Maybe he has been approaching this the wrong way. He  _ is _ talking about someone very important to Hugh. “Okay, you’re right,” he allows. “They aren’t likely to come back during the day. But all the more important to be ready for them tonight.”

“All right,” Hugh says, exhaustion creeping into his voice, his hands falling to his side. “On second thought, Tilly, can you have Michael take over the search parties for the moment?”

Tilly’s eyes fly wide. “You’re not going to keep searching?” she exclaims.

“I need to clear my head,” Hugh says. “I’m no use to anyone right now.”

“Okay,” she says skeptically, giving him a sideways look. “Of course.”

“Thanks. I’ll be in my cabin.” He smiles at her gratefully, if thinly, and heads off up the beach.

Paul is nearly overwhelmed by the urge to chase after Hugh and comfort him, maybe give him a word of encouragement. But he suspects that’s the last thing Hugh wants right now, especially from him. He stays, fidgeting with his tiny knife, waiting for the next order.

Ripper swoops down from the sky and onto Reno’s shoulder. She feeds him a treat and he preens his feathers for a moment.

“Okay,” Tilly says, looking flustered. “Back to the common house to regroup.”

 

***

 

As the sun sets, Michael and Joann are perched up on the cliff overlooking the southern end of the bay. The warmth of the day is receding, helped in its departure by a strengthening wind.

Michael sharpens her knife restlessly, while Joann fiddles with the straps of her quiver and taps her bow in the sand.

“Still no sign of them,” Joann says, almost like she just wants to fill the void.

“We’re probably not going to see anything.” Michael lifts her spyglass to her eye for the fiftieth time, scanning the beach below and squinting at the north end of the bay.

“Do you think we’ll find them?”

Michael looks over at her friend, now staring out onto the blank rolling sea, her beautiful locks cascading down her back under a black scarf, eyes fixed far in the distance. “Are you worried about something?”

”Of course,” Joann says softly. “That they’ll escape, or that they’ve already escaped, and we won’t be safe here anymore. I didn’t run away from home expecting to be driven out again.”

Michael nods. “It’s always a risk. But I do believe we’ll find them.”

She had come here herself, an angry captive from a merchant vessel, not knowing how her entire livelihood had been dependent on the exploitation of laborers elsewhere in the empire. Working through that had taken time. She’d lashed out. She’d been difficult. She’d contemplated trying to run away. 

But her sense of justice had prevailed, especially once she’d seen how the pirates lived.

She’d sent a letter to her family after a month, explaining her choice. She even maintains a secret maildrop on one of the neutral islands, under a false name, under which her family can write to her. Someday she’d like to go home and see them. It’s not safe. Maybe someday they will visit her….

She sighs and changes the subject. “What do you think of Paul?”

“He seems different than the other two. But I’m not convinced we can trust him.”

“That’s reasonable.” Michael reaches for her canteen, popping the cork off the blister bamboo vessel and drinking deep.

Joann chuckles. “But I’ve never been in your place, Michael. And we trust you now more than almost anyone.”

“He has to demonstrate a pattern first.”

“Yes.”

“But I think that he’s going in a good direction. I just wish we knew more about him.”

 

***

 

Camp is unusually quiet when Hugh, Reno, and Ripper enter the common house after another couple hours of searching. Hugh hopes Landry and Quinn don’t realize this is atypical. Soyu is serving up a pot of stew to people dropping in for a quick dinner break, but they’re clustered in small groups, talking quietly.

Hugh doesn’t have time for stew, grabbing a couple handfuls of nuts while chatting with Tilly about the plans for the evening. 

She’s been staying at the common house with Paul, organizing the search parties coming in and out. And because Paul is the expert on their escapees, now Hugh will go with him to the beach to wait.

Fifteen minutes later, they’re crouched behind a boulder near the northern edge of the bay, watching for Quinn and Landry and Tyno. The sky is clear and the North Moon shines bright this evening, so they need to stay in the shadows.

“How fast can you run?” Hugh whispers.

Paul shrugs. “I’m not a sprinter. I can run. I’m a better swimmer, which isn’t saying much.”

“I’m worried we’re so far away that we won’t be able to catch them in time.”

“We could go get into the boats.”

Hugh shakes his head. “I don’t want to take the risk that they see us. If you’re right, and they were going for an ocean retreat, I don’t want to scare them back into the forest with my dad.”

“Okay,” Paul says. “Let’s wait.”

And so they do. Hugh watches the Green Moon trail the Sun Moon across the night sky for some time.

Then a poorly simulated iris striper call echoes across the bay, four times in succession.

“Shit,” Paul mutters, scrambling out of his crouch onto his hands and knees to look around the edge of the boulder. “Shit shit shit.”

“Is that our signal?” Hugh asks, feeling foolish. The stress of the situation has made his brain foggy.

“No,” Paul growls. “That’s a navy call. They’re around here somewhere.”

Hugh’s heart leaps up into his throat as he twists to look around the other side of the boulder. “What does it mean?”

“It’s just a general signal. It doesn’t have a predetermined meaning. They make all of us practice it.”

Hugh looks frantically up and down the beach. He can’t see any movement there or in the water.

The iris striper call sounds again, just twice.

“Does the number of the call mean anything?” Hugh asks.

“Shhhhhh!”

His heart is pounding so loudly in his ears, he can’t be sure he’s going to hear Paul talking to him. His hands are shaking against the warm sandy surface of the boulder.

“There. Northern edge,” Paul says, voice just permeating Hugh’s near-panic. “I was right. They’re on the beach right now but they’re going for the water. I’m going after them.”

“ _ What– _ ” Hugh barely has time to object before Paul’s creeping down the beach at the edge of the grassline. He squints toward the water, seeing two or maybe three low figures illuminated by the steady light of the North Moon on their backs.

Checking at his belt for his knives, Hugh launches himself upright just enough to follow Paul. He hopes Michael and Tilly have noticed them move. Trying to walk low to the ground is surprisingly difficult; he’s almost trailing his fingers in the uneven gray sand for balance.

Paul has paused behind a particularly tall clump of grass, and Hugh catches up after a moment. “It’s only Quinn and Landry.”

_ Fuck. Fuck. Where is my dad? _

“Maybe we–?” But again, before Hugh can finish his thought, Paul throws himself forward, now running toward the two figures still creeping along the beach bent over.

Hugh’s rolling his eyes as he scrambles to his feet again, nearly tripping on a low rock as he sprints after Paul.

At first the two figures don’t seem to notice them—a blessing. But as soon as they turn their heads toward them, they do something Hugh doesn’t expect.

They start running  _ toward _ Paul.

Hugh digs deep for more speed, trying to catch up. Everyone  _ knows _ Paul isn’t particularly good at fighting—the report about the brig fight was really all he needed to learn that, never mind the pokeroot harvest incident. But now Paul is launching himself headlong at people who want him dead?

“What did you do with Tyno?” Paul yells as the pairs draw closer together.

“Same thing we’re going to do with you, you fucking traitor,” shouts Quinn, brandishing a club with what looks like a couple of blades embedded in it, edges glinting in the moonlight.

“Paul, stop!” Hugh pleads, pulling out his knives as he closes the distance.

“Quinn, you coward, if you wanted me dead you should have tried a lot sooner,” Paul growls, dodging under the first high swing of the club and kicking out at Quinn’s knee. “Everyone here wants you dead now.”

“But you don’t believe in killing,” Quinn mocks, dodging the kick. “See what good that does you.”

Hugh rolls his eyes slightly as he adopts a fighting stance to take on Landry. This is no time for this kind of talk. They need to win and win fast to find his dad.

Landry seems to be unarmed, lashing out with a fist faster than Hugh can counter but Hugh catches the glint between her fingers just as her fist connects with his chest. Sharp pain radiates out in all directions from the impact, and he’s knocked backward, breathless.

Hugh groans, managing to remain upright, but Landry’s right back on him, chopping at his weaker right wrist and getting him to drop that knife.

Paul and Quinn are still needling each other as they fight.

_ Where are the others? _ Hugh wonders helplessly as he tries to angle his other hand to slash at Landry. Surely someone has noticed the scuffle by now.

Landry drops a disorienting blow on Hugh’s right cheek, another stab of pain following. He lashes out with his remaining knife, landing a glancing slice on her.

Landry is  _ fast _ . She knocks the other knife out of his hand, sweeping a kick into the back of his knees and flipping him down to the sand with a painful thump.

_ Is this how it all ends? _

A long, angry deep-voiced yell comes from somewhere behind Hugh. “Let him go!”

Landry lets out a shocked “oof” as a boot connects with her side, sending her rolling over to Hugh’s left. Hugh grabs for his knife as he scrambles to his feet.

It’s Tyno, but Hugh has no time to be grateful as his dad pins Landry’s wrists to the beach, sitting on her legs. He turns to the other combatants.

Paul is slashing the little knife Hugh had given him wildly at Quinn, eyes wide and angry, maybe a little manic. “The navy should have discharged you a long time ago,” he’s shouting.

Quinn sneers from under his heavy dark eyebrows, swings his club again, grazing Paul’s arm as he leaps away. “Well, I had Captain Lorca on my side. Who would argue with him? Oh wait, it was you - you were five minutes from being discharged yourself for insubordination.”

The taunt has the obvious intended effect on Paul. He shouts angrily as he charges forward, catching Quinn’s club on his torso as he bowls both of them over onto the sand.

Hugh sees his opening, darting forward and grabbing Quinn’s arm from under Paul, twisting violently until Quinn’s fingers disengage from the club with a gasp.

Paul sticks Hugh’s tiny knife up against Quinn’s throat, leaning in close to his ear, speaking in a threateningly low voice. “You’re done terrorizing me.” Hugh tightens his grip on Quinn. He hopes he isn’t going to have to disarm Paul in turn.

However, this threat under restraint seems to be enough for Quinn, who lets his arms go slack.

Hugh’s dimly aware that he’s almost hyperventilating. He sits heavily in the sand, still clutching Quinn’s wrist as tightly as he can manage. He closes his eyes and takes a long, slow, deep breath.

“Oh my gosh, are you okay?” 

Tilly’s shout rouses him to the sweet sight of his friends arriving on scene. Tilly runs to Tyno’s side to help him subdue Landry.

Michael crouches in front of Hugh. He lets go of Quinn’s wrist as Bryce and Joann drag Quinn to his feet and tie his hands behind his back. 

Michael puts her hands on Hugh’s shoulders. “I’m so glad to see you.” Her voice shakes with overwhelming relief. “Are you - You’re bleeding!” She runs a finger around a painful area in the middle of his chest.

Hugh looks down to where Michael touches, spots of blood dotting his yellow shirt. “Landry got me with some sort of blade between her fingers,” he remembers. “It doesn’t feel that bad. It’s not deep.”

Michael raises an eyebrow. “You’d never accept that argument from me,” she says drily, with a hint of humor. “Getting stabbed in the chest is not a minor event. Can you walk?”

“I think so.” He looks up and sees Paul standing there as Quinn is led away, staring off into space. He must be as dazed as Hugh. A movement catches Hugh’s eye. “Paul. Your arm!”

Paul examines the deep gouge on his right forearm, dripping blood slowly onto the sand. “Yeah. Looks serious,” he says in a curiously detached manner.

Michael rolls her eyes at Hugh as she helps him up. “You’re a pair of dunkers. Let’s get you back to camp and bandaged up. You still have any of that bitterweed salve in your cabin?”

“In my trunk,” Hugh says. 

Michael squeezes his arm. “I’ll head back and make sure we’re ready to receive wounded. And prisoners who need to be watched a little more closely.”

A blessedly familiar voice says, “I’m very glad to see you.” His father lays a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“Dad!” Hugh wraps his dad in a big hug, remembering only belatedly that he’s bleeding. They stand there for several moments, Hugh trying not to cry all over his shoulder as well, his dad patting him on the back gently. When he’s less overwhelmed, he asks, “Did they hurt you? Are you okay?”

“I am now,” his dad says. “I’m not injured that bad. I certainly haven’t been stabbed today. Let’s get you back to camp and sitting down. I want Reno to look at those cuts.” Tyno smiles fondly. “Thank you, son. You did well today.”

“Don’t forget Paul,” Hugh hears himself say, looking back at their supposed third prisoner, who is giving him a look that is somehow both smug and sheepish, holding his bleeding arm against his ragged uniform. “He had the right idea about them.” He takes a deep breath and the motion  _ hurts _ . His adrenaline must be wearing off.

“I would’ve stopped them sooner,” Tyno said. “If not for those two hitting me over the head. A couple times.”

“The  _ head _ , Dad? A couple times?” Hugh gives him a withering look. “You’re trying to tell me you weren’t injured that much?”

“We can talk about that later. Once we get  _ you _ looked at.”


	5. Moonboard

_ Three days later _

 

Paul startles when the first tiny wave nips at his toes. He's been on the beach for most of the evening, in plain sight of the rest of the festivities for Tilly's birthday. 

A faint hint of sun is still visible on the horizon, while the familiar North Moon glows brightly from its spot in the sky. Is there any place on land that would make him feel the same way as the North Moon turning the crests of the waves a soft pink on a clear night, pulling the tides to and fro?

Another wave crashes over his ankles, and he gets up, moving a few paces back and sitting down again.

Is this really how his story goes? Skilled lieutenant navigator taken prisoner by pirates, living out the rest of his life feeling displaced in a different society. On the run from the law. Giving up all his connections with home, his community, what’s familiar. It puts any chance of meaningfully reconnecting with his parents pretty much out of reach.

At the same time, after being attacked multiple times by Quinn and Landry, he isn’t sure he’d ever feel the slightest bit safe on a navy ship again. But his two adversaries are still being held in the storage cabin under close surveillance while the pirates prepare to get them off the island. Paul doesn’t have to see them, but he feels how close they are. Going back to the navy is going back to contending with people like them.

Paul’s starting to know some of the pirates a bit better now, after almost a week with them. He’s been allowed to roam more freely, and has also been asked to help with various projects around the camp. He’s noticed how he’s not on edge as much any more. He’s noticed how many more smiles he gets even as a prisoner here.

_ Maybe it’s not worth it to go back. _

He sighs.

"Everything okay?" Michael’s voice comes from behind him, interrupting his anxious thoughts. He looks up at her as she moves to his side. “May I?” she asks, gesturing to the ground beside him. He nods.

Michael is about as reserved as the pirates get. She has a soft smile and an infectious laugh, but she's quiet.  He’s seen how her personality holds her separate from the others, yet she seems to give and receive more hugs than almost anyone. 

"I'm a prisoner on a desert island, far from everything I know. Would you be okay?" he says bitterly once she’s sitting next to him.

"I wasn’t okay when I first came here either,” Michael says. “I told you I was a prisoner when I first came to a pirate community. Well, I used to work on a trade vessel for one of the big companies. One day we were carrying cloth and spices that, unknown to me, had been looted from an island community. Our ship was attacked by another group of pirates, to take the goods back.”

"How did you end up here?" 

"The pirates who captured me were already at capacity on their little island. When I decided I wanted to stay, Philippa - the captain of the ship - asked if I would rather come over here, which was a much smaller community back then." She draws lines and loops in the sand absentmindedly. "Once I learned what I had been part of, I couldn’t go back."

He knows stories like hers. Seized goods. Always reported to him by his captains as rectifying a tax imbalance, or punishment for other lawbreaking. There was always a tidy explanation, but sometimes he’d wondered, and now he does again:  _ What if those stories were lies?  _ He can see the pain in her face even when she’s not looking at him.

Michael continues, "I can tell that you're torn, and that tells me that you like  _ something _ about being here. Quinn and Landry, well, we'd prefer to drop them in a rowboat somewhere and let the ocean carry them off." 

He snorts. "The sooner the better."

"In any case, what I mean is, we like you. If you put your whole heart into being here, into standing against the empire, we'll put our hearts into making you feel welcome. I promise." She looks at him then, her eyes bright.

He inhales sharply, his throat closing up at the unexpected kindness.

"What are you two talking about?" a slightly slurred voice carries over the beach from behind them. They turn to see Hugh walking, just a touch unsteadily, toward them. 

"How you can't hold your rum, you lightweight," Michael says dryly, getting to her feet. "I was just heading back to the party." 

"You hate parties," Hugh tells her authoritatively. 

"I do," she agrees. "But I love those roasted roots you made. I’m going to see if there’s any left." She smiles down at Paul, a twinkle in her eye, then claps Hugh on the shoulder before heading up the beach. 

Hugh nearly collapses onto the ground beside him. Paul upgrades his assessment of Hugh to moderately drunk.

"It's way too loud back there," Hugh explains loudly. 

"It is," Paul agrees, holding back a smile.

"You don't like us? You’ve been down here almost since the beginning." 

"No, I do," Paul finds himself rushing to assure Hugh. And he's telling the truth. "It's just a lot to take in." He gestures around him. "All of this."

Hugh nods. "I've been here a long time. Twenty years now. I don't really remember what it's like to live anywhere else." He pauses for a few moments, gazing out over the water. 

He takes a deep breath before continuing, "I came here with my dad when I was ten. He's never talked about it much, but I think a gang was after him. He sold everything we had, bought a little sailboat, and we went sailing. After a couple months, we ended up here."

Paul lets himself smile now. "Good to know it's possible to be here and not have to do the whole pirate thing. Your dad’s a real loner.”

Hugh leans into him, kind of shoving him playfully with his shoulder. The touch startles Paul, but Hugh doesn’t notice. "He put in several years of living with everyone, for better or worse, first. You're not there yet." He looks up at the North Moon. "But you could get there. If you wanted." 

"Michael said something similar," Paul offers, quietly amused and a bit charmed by Hugh’s open and honest demeanor. 

Hugh beams softly and delightedly at Paul for several moments. The intensity in his eyes unnerves Paul, and he looks away. "I hope you'll stay," Hugh adds. "Reno told me you helped her construct a splint for Ripper’s broken wing. Quite a feat of engineering.” He laughs a little. “Plus, I'd rather get to know you as an equal.” He seems to almost swallow back the last word, suddenly abashed. “Oops, I said too much.”

Paul turns to stare at him.  _ Why does he think he shouldn’t have said that? _

Hugh scrambles to his feet, unsteady, grumbling, "Tilly is not allowed to serve me rum anymore, I swear. Okay, bye." 

Paul watches him go, already quite a bit more interested in staying just to find out what Hugh means. His shoulder tingles a bit from the contact. He wishes Hugh had kept sitting here. Maybe leaned into him again. This time he’s ready for it.

 

The next couple days are filled with food harvests, kitchen duty, and various repairs - finishing the pokeroot bog, gathering the beginnings of the echo raspberry crop. 

His discomfort continues to give way to curiosity. He sees how well organized the pirates are, making sure everyone’s fed and taken care of. 

For example, Reno spends an afternoon fixing the roof on Airiam’s cabin, where Paul is staying now; Paul stands on the ground, passing her tools and materials. She keeps up a regular banter of sarcastic comments that make him feel right at home.

Bryce and Gen bring them grilled fish and fruit at dinnertime. It’s the same dish Paul had his first night here, as a prisoner. The flavors are even better now. The fruit is perfectly caramelized.

The four of them sit cross-legged in a circle next to Airiam’s cabin. Ripper appears from nearby, his splinted wing making him reliant on walking. He picks fruit scraps from Reno’s hand as Gen tells stories from the port town he grew up in. 

It’s relaxed, nothing like a dinner break on a ship, everything regimented and orderly. 

At the end of dinner, Bryce and Gen gather the plates and Reno stares up at the roof. “I still have another couple hours of work. You up for it? Maybe come up here and help me nail down the last layers? Airiam would probably like it if this was done today. But I can handle it myself if you need a break.”

So far he’s been assigned work, but now Reno’s giving him a  _ choice _ . He is exhausted, but finishing the roof tonight would be satisfying. And Airiam’s been surprisingly generous about letting Paul stay in her cabin. He wants her to know that.

“Let’s get it done,” he says. Reno grins and gestures for him to follow her up the ladder.

 

The next night, Hugh invites Paul to a lowkey evening in Hugh’s cabin, a small group of them drinking and talking, sitting on cushions around the low table next to Hugh’s bed.

“Anyone for a game of rohrkat?” Hugh offers, draining the rest of his second mug of grog.

“Fuck yeah!” Keyla exclaims, a bit drunkenly, and everyone laughs.

Hugh gets up from his seat on his trunk, and kneels down to open the trunk and rummage around, coming up with a tiny blister bamboo container that rattles when he shakes it. He closes the trunk and sits back down, setting the container on the table around which Hugh, Paul, Keyla, Joann, Tilly, and Michael are sitting.

“Do navy ships have rohrkat?” Keyla asks Paul.

He nods. “It’s been a long time since I played, but yes.”

Hugh upends the container onto the table, and wooden dice, painted with different colors and shapes, scatter among their mugs.

“Oh!” Keyla starts laughing. “Do they play strip rohrkat on navy ships?” Joann snickers.

Paul blushes and carefully does not look at Hugh, carefully refuses to think about why it’s Hugh he’s embarrassed about looking at. “I wouldn’t know.”

“You really don’t have any fun on navy ships, do you?” Tilly blurts out.

Michael announces, smiling slyly, “You  _ have _ played strip rohrkat.”

Everyone laughs again; Paul’s chest is tight. He sighs. If everyone can already tell when he’s lying, and he’s still just trying to get accepted, then he has to be honest. To a point. “Yes. Okay. I have. A long time ago. But I’d rather not discuss it.”

Hugh reaches over and pats Paul on the knee reassuringly, sending a delightful shiver up Paul’s spine. “Hey, sorry. We’re a bit more open here than elsewhere in the empire, I know. No pressure.”

Paul looks at Hugh’s hand on his knee, then up to Hugh, who’s smiling at him, broadly and warmly.

Paul looks into his mug, still half-full. He really does want to let loose, break free of the track he’s been on. He tips it back and swallows the rest. “No, let’s do it.”

Keyla and Joann cheer. Michael makes everyone more drinks, and they begin.

The game goes slowly, and fairly equally. 

Joann loses her boots and her bright blue overshirt on one green star roll. 

Hugh bets wrong on a mid-roll and only removes his necklace. His fingers move delicately around his neck to unclasp the small chain, tossing it behind him onto his bed. Michael shoves him playfully, booing. “Cheap move on the jewelry, Hugh.” 

When Paul bets his shirt on an end-roll and loses, he again can’t really look at Hugh as he pulls it over his head and places it by his feet.

“You are so pale,” Joann remarks, “How did you manage that being on deck all day?”

“I don’t walk around shirtless, for one.”

“Maybe you should, just from time to time,” Hugh suggests, and Paul’s blush is hot on his cheeks as he keeps his gaze firmly on the dice on the table.

Michael and Tilly bow out at the end of the first round, both of them having managed to remain relatively clothed. “All this grog is making me sleepy,” Tilly says.

“I’ll look out for our lookout, make sure she makes it home safely.” Michael yawns and stretches. “I could use an early night anyway.”

“Suuuuure you could,” Joann teases suggestively.

“Give it a rest, Joann,” Tilly grumbles. “Good night, you creeps.” She takes Michael’s hand for balance as they wave goodnight and head for the door.

Hugh bets poorly on every roll of the second round. He loses his shirt and his boots.

The rest of the group manages not to lose any more layers, but Joann and Keyla are looking at each other quite intently, Paul notices, and Keyla keeps softly tracing a line down Joann’s bare arm. 

“I think we’re going to call it a night too,” Keyla says before the next round starts, tying her scarf back on as Joann pulls on her boots and shirt. “You two have fun.” Her wink at Hugh is not lost on Paul.

When the door shuts behind them, it’s just Paul and Hugh left there, both of them shirtless.

Now it would seem very awkward if Paul refused to look in Hugh’s direction. He scoots over to the next cushion so he’s no longer right next to Hugh. He can look at Hugh, or not. It suddenly seems important that there is a little space between them.

Hugh cradles his mug in both hands. “One more round?” he asks, an odd note of hope in his voice. It’s only when Paul looks at his expression more intently that he finally notices that the reason Hugh’s eyes stand out the way they do must be a tiny bit of eyeliner makeup, drawing his gaze toward those beautiful dark eyes.

Hugh clearly only has his pants left to lose. Paul has his boots still, and his trousers, so he clearly has the advantage here.

_ Does Hugh want to see me naked? _

That’s a shocking thought.

_ Do I want to see Hugh naked? _

The heat that suffuses him on that thought is all the answer he needs.

He closes his eyes and tries to collect himself. 

“Paul? Are you okay?”

_ No, I’m not okay, a very attractive man wants to play strip rohrkat with me, and I’m not opposed to it, and... _

He takes a deep breath, opening his eyes and locking his gaze with Hugh’s, searching the dark eyes, admiring his small smile. 

“I… should go.” The words are leaden on his tongue.

“We can stop playing if you want,” Hugh says. “We can do something else.”

“No, I think… I should get some sleep,” Paul apologizes, blush creeping up on his cheeks as he reaches for his shirt.

“You’re staying in the spare bed in Airiam’s cabin, right?” Hugh asks.

Paul nods.

“Are you warm enough over there?” Hugh gets to his feet and rustling around on his bed. “I could get you another blanket.”

“No, no,” Paul protests, a little too loudly. “I’m fine. I’ll see you tomorrow. Thank you for inviting me. I had a good time.”

“I did too,” Hugh says, voice again soft and intimate. “Thanks for joining us.”

It’s just like when Aoito met him in the corridor. All it would take is Hugh stepping over, or him coming closer…

But the distance between them feels too large.

Paul turns for the door. “Good night,” he says, without a look back.

_ Ugh, what have I done?  _ His embarrassment so consumes him that he’s surprised when he finds himself at the door to Airiam’s cabin. 

Airiam’s awake, reading a book by lantern light. She nods at him as he enters but doesn’t make conversation, to his endless relief.

He gets under the blankets and tries to fall asleep. But all he can see is the slight disappointment on Hugh’s face at his leaving.

 

The past few days have been filled with work, and people, and laughter, and food. Paul’s head has been swimming with it. Now he has a few moments of quiet on the beach again; no one in arm’s reach, no one to hurt him, only the distant sounds of conversation from the common house.

Tomorrow they take Quinn and Landry out to sea. They’ll sail in circles and loops for a few days, undercover as a merchant ship, stopping to trade their supplies, going eventually to a neutral island in the eastern part of the archipelago, where they’ll drop the sailors before taking another circuitous route home. 

Home?

The thoughts have been building over the last week. He launched himself into a dangerous fight, not just for himself, but for Hugh and Tyno and all the pirates. He couldn’t be safe in the navy if anyone knew he’d helped capture his fellow sailors. Even though word would travel slowly, if at all, if Quinn and Landry made it back to the navy, he’d still have that hanging in his mind.

Michael’s supportive words stick with him as illustrative of the strength and love of this community, and the way they’re building something vital out of so little. There’s also the way they’re building him into the community, so seamlessly, that makes him feel grounded.

And then there’s Hugh.

The smile that spreads across his face just at the thought of Hugh is genuine, and it’s followed by a rush of anxiety.

They’ve spent a little more time together over meals and work. Hugh always seems happy to see him. But hesitant. 

Paul is hesitant, for sure. His embarrassment over the rohrkat incident is fading, but he can’t quite get over his reluctance to take another risk.

There’s no denying the whole village is good for him. But how good would he feel if Hugh wasn’t a part of it?

He’s not sure anyone knows he’s leaning toward staying. That he’s starting to feel at home. That when he thinks of going back to the navy now, it feels less like comforting routine and more like a prison. The same sort of prison he’s just starting to get out of here, as people begin to include him, appreciate him, trust him - even rely on him.

 

***

 

Once they’re at sea, one of the knots in Hugh’s stomach starts loosening. 

The prisoners are aboard in the brig, they’re carrying them far far away, and soon this particular nightmare will be over.

His dad is safe at home on the island, with people checking on him twice daily to make sure he’s recovering from his ordeal okay.

But Paul is aboard too, bunking with some of the crew. He’ll be getting off the ship at another port, to go his own way.

Something’s changed about Paul’s reactions to the pirates over the last few days. He seems less wary, more at home. When Hugh asked him if he was looking forward to getting back to the continent, he said, “I suppose,” in the least certain voice Hugh’s ever heard.

He desperately wants Paul to stick around. As absolutely foolish as it seems to have such an interest in a naval officer who’s used his skills to work against the freedom and justice Hugh strives for… well, it is what it is. At least he can just keep that to himself.

As if on cue, Tilly leans up against the rail next to him. “What’s digging at you?”

“I’m fine, Tilly.”

“You’ve had this faraway look on your face for days. Everything okay?”

“I’m just ready for this problem to be over.”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with a certain prisoner?” she teases him.

Hugh turns his head slowly and stares at her in shock for a moment, surprise finally giving way to laughter. “Is it that obvious?”

“Your eyes are on him any time he’s in view. It’s hard  _ not _ to notice. I heard you two were the last ones together the other night. People are talking.”

He sighs, tapping his fingers on the rail. “Nothing happened. But. He’s not at all what I expected.”

“He’s so much better?”

He leans into her playfully. “Give it up, Tilly, please. I’m tired.”

“Don’t let him leave without kissing him,” she murmurs confidentially, shoulder-checking him back before heading belowdecks.

 

***

 

It’s strange to be at sea again. And even stranger that it does feel strange to be at sea. It hasn’t even been a month since the destruction of Paul’s ship.

He’s been restricted to belowdecks, until they reach their first port of call, the one where he’ll be allowed to step off the ship and go his own way.

He’s almost completely sure he’ll stay aboard. If they’ll have him.

He contents himself in his cabin, a bunk area shared with several other people who are currently out doing their jobs. Sitting on the lower bunk with his feet on the floor, he feels the turns of the ship, taking what little he knows about their location and the orientation of the ship when he boarded. He begins to lay out a map in his head.

The pirates probably wouldn’t let him go if they knew he was doing  _ that _ . Would they let him stay and be free, though?

He’s been trying to sort out for himself why he feels so at home, why things have changed so deeply. Being who he is is not a liability here. He doesn’t have to adhere to hierarchy and rank and authority. The pirates have captains, of course, but… Hugh and Michael don’t feel like any captains he’s ever met.

The ship leans moonboard, and something thumps against the door outside the cabin.

Or someone, as Tilly opens the door, stepping inside and closing it behind her.

“I didn’t think you were staying in this cabin,” he observes dryly.

She rolls her eyes at him. “I’m here now.” She grabs the top bunk next to the door for support.

“Do you want something?”

“I wish you’d stay with us.”

Paul rubs his left thumb against the skin between his right thumb and forefinger. “Do you now?”

“You could have been just as much a jerk as Quinn and Landry, but you helped us instead of them.”

“They hate me; why would I help them?”

“That’s not really the point,” she says, uncharacteristically sharp. “You’re obviously different from them. You adjusted to being here really well. We had fun with you the last few days. In fact, I can’t really tell what someone like you gets out of being in the navy.”

He bites his lip, thinking. “I didn’t know what else to devote myself to,” he confesses. “As a kid I knew the navy was somewhere I could see the world. I could learn to navigate. I’d have a place and a purpose.”

“You’re a navigator?” Tilly exclaims.

He pauses, realizing his mistake. “Uh.”

“We  _ need _ another navigator, Paul! Keyla normally sails with Michael. Our last navigator, he died a little while back of an infection…” Her face turns sad for a moment, but she shakes it off. “Anyway. You’d fit in so well. Don’t leave.”

“Why do you want me to stay so badly, anyway?”

She grins shyly. “I’d like to learn from you. And I think… other people here could learn from you too.”

He snorts. “If you say so.”

“Will you stay?”

“I’ll think about it.” What holds him back from saying it aloud?

She puts her right hand on his right shoulder and squeezes, still holding onto the bunk with her other hand as the ship rolls again. “I hope you do. I’ll see you later. You know you can walk around wherever you want down here, right? You don’t have to stay in the cabin. But we usually eat meals on deck when it’s nice out, so you’d have to stay below then.”

 

However, the next day it’s blustery so the crew eats lunch belowdecks to get out of the wind.

Paul goes in to get his ration of smoked fish and dried citrus fruit from Synthy, their shipboard cook, a friendly but exceedingly quiet person who also lives on the outskirts of the community. They wink at him as they hand him a bamboo cup of what appears to be beer. “Special treat today.”

“Come sit with me!” Tilly calls from a little table in the corner.

Paul winds his way between the little clots of the crew, easing himself down on the bench in the corner opposite Tilly.

“We’re coming to your stop tomorrow,” she says. “Probably in the morning.”

“Oh?” he says, stuffing a big piece of fish into his mouth so he can chew for a very long time before having to answer further.

Tilly fills the auditory silence. “Don’t leave. Please? At least not before talking to Hugh.”

He almost chokes on his fish, chewing rapidly now so he can swallow and get the words out.

“What does my leaving have to do with Hugh?” he demands in an angry near-whisper.

Tilly leans back a bit, smirking at him. “Are you trying to tell me you aren’t totally into him?”

“We’ve hardly spent any time together!” Paul hisses.

“You didn’t say you  _ aren’t _ into him.”

“So what if I was? People like each other all the time. It doesn’t mean anything. I’m a traitor, after all.”

“Are you planning to go back into the navy, then?” she presses, a falsely innocent smile on her face.

He scowls at her. “Mind your own business.”

She grins triumphantly at him.

 

***

 

Hugh wakes at the dawn bell. Today’s their first port stop, where they told Paul he could leave the ship, go off on his own.  _ Don’t go. _

_ Stop it,  _ he tells himself.

It’s already warm in his cabin. It promises to be a very warm day, so he foregoes a shirt, just slipping on a vest and breeches.

He opens his cabin door to find that Synthy already left breakfast for him, biscuits tied into a cloth hanging from his doorknob. Thank goodness. He’s too distracted to face the crew.

Hugh eats while pacing nervously around the cabin, letting the crumbs from the biscuits fall freely on the floor.

He really doesn’t meet interesting men all that often. Certainly, he’s had short relationships, flings, and casual things with other pirates, and when he was traveling as a young adult. Nothing is permanent, everything is scraped together and usually falls apart at some point. Such is the life of a pirate.

He’s a bit more interested in Paul than he’d expect at this stage of getting to know him. Certainly, he’s attractive, he’s stubborn, he’s intelligent, he…

_ Worked for the enemy. For years. _

He brings his hand to his mouth only to find a small crumb of biscuit left.

_ He shifted his allegiance in just a few days. He was never loyal. _

He pulls on his boots and makes his way to the deck so he can pace around up there instead.

He looks toward the bow. The sleepy little village of Port Enterprise is visible in the distance.

And there’s Paul, short blond hair still blowing back in the wind, standing next to Keyla at the wheel. Although the long-sleeved gray tunic and blue trousers Gen gave him don’t quite fit, he’s still a sight. There’s no one so pale in their crew. He’d be almost ghostly, if he weren’t so celestial, glowing like if the moon were white…

He rolls his eyes at himself, belatedly hoping no one sawy. He’s in much deeper than he thought.

Focusing on his duty, not his trepidation at Paul’s departure, he approaches them, calling out “Morning!” once he’s close enough to be heard over the breeze.

Paul turns and smiles a little at him, eyebrows arching up. “Morning.”

“So this is your stop, then. Enterprise is a nice little village, and growing,” he says, swallowing back his disappointment. “You should be able to find passage to wherever you want to go.”

Paul shakes his head. “I’ve decided to stay. If that’s okay.”

Hugh can’t stop his grin, or the butterflies in his stomach. “Oh?”

A shy smile dimples Paul’s face. “I think it’s time for a better adventure.”

“You know that you’ll be considered an outlaw, right? You can’t go home if anyone knows you’ve been with us.” He doesn’t know why he’s trying to talk Paul out of this.

Paul shrugs. “Nobody liked me out there anyway,” he says softly. “I like what you have here. I don’t want to leave.”

Hugh wants to shout for joy, but he settles for stepping in and squeezing Paul’s shoulders with his hands. “We’re happy to have you with us.”

Paul glances down at Hugh’s hand and then up at his face. His satisfied smile and wide eyes are a gift. “Well, wait and see what you think,” he says.


	6. Sailing Close to the Wind

The ship leaves Quinn and Landry at Port Charon the next night, before returning to the pirates’ island. Running into Hugh and other pirates around the ship begins to feel more comfortable; there are more smiles and jokes and friendly banter.

Upon their return to the island, Paul tries to settle into his new life. His hesitance around his choice is fading, thought not yet gone. 

His main project is building his own little shelter, just a little place for him to keep his things and sleep. It's partly a very shallow cave at the edge of the community, around which he builds up a wood frame with woven grasses and palm leaves for a little more space. Reno, Tilly, Hugh, and Airiam help him with the design and construction of the basic structure, and then Paul does the rest on his own.

His days are filled with work, giving him little time to think, and his nights are spent with the other pirates, enjoying their company but mostly quiet, hanging back around the fringes.

One night after dinner and a round of songs, Hugh asks if he can see the latest refinements to Paul’s new home. They slip out the side of the common house and head back into the forest.

It’s chilly without the heat of the fire and all the people crowded around together. Paul shivers.

"Cold tonight, isn't it?" Hugh remarks casually. 

“Fucking freezing,” Paul says, feeling colder the moment Hugh remarks on it. Even though his cheeks always seem warm whenever Hugh is nearby.

The path leads them right to Paul’s door. “Well, here we are.” Paul unlatches the door, a simple wood frame lined with woven palm leaves, and gestures Hugh inside.

Hugh stares at him for a moment, seemingly confused. Paul gestures again. Wasn’t the point to show Hugh the house?

Hugh enters the little anteroom, a frame of blister bamboo poles lined with woven mats, holding Paul’s trunk, a low makeshift table with an oil lantern on it, and a rock to sit on. The back left part of the structure abuts a shallow, narrow cave, where Paul’s bed is nestled.

The little shelter is too open to the air - it won’t be comfortable or very sturdy in a storm. But for now, it’s fine. 

Paul lights the oil lantern and places it on top of his trunk. “Want to sit down?” He indicates the rock.

Hugh nods, squatting to sit on the rock as Paul sits in the sand next to him.

“You’ve done well with this,” Hugh says, looking around.

Paul snorts. “If you say so.”

“You’ve been here two weeks. You don’t build houses for a living. I couldn’t do this.”

Paul sighs. “It could be better. I was navigating on imperial ships for 15 years. Say what you will, the ships were decently well built. Not drafty. I hate wind over my face while I’m sleeping.”

“Having second thoughts about staying?” Hugh teases.

Paul sighs. “No. But it was comfortable. I was respected. Well, that’s not the right word. I was tolerated. But I liked the routine. And being on the sea, following the tides, the moons, the stars.”

“I can’t imagine wanting that kind of regimentation in your life,” Hugh remarks. “Doing the same thing every day.”

“There’s something comforting about it. Always knowing what you’ll be doing. Each day brings enough surprises anyway.”

“It sure does,” Hugh says, and Paul suddenly realizes Hugh is gazing at him 

Paul blinks, feeling suddenly restless. Their friends start up another raucous song in the distance.

Hugh breathes in deeply before saying, “It’s not just the rum talking, I promise, but you look really good in the moonlight.”

Paul’s heart skips a beat as he catches sight of the ray of the North Moon’s light coming through the wall of his home onto his face. “Yeah, I left a lot of gaps, unfortunately. More work for later,” he says uncomfortably.

“No, that’s a compliment,” Hugh says. He scoots off the rock to sit crosslegged in front of Paul, smiling softly at him. The eye contact again. Paul’s heart begins racing as he finally makes the connection.

_Hugh is flirting with me._

Now only a few feet away, Hugh’s face is slightly lit with residual light from the ray falling across Paul’s face and body. The dark liner around his eyes makes his eyes stand out even more against his skin.

“Can I kiss you?” Hugh asks, leaning in slightly.

Paul’s shallow intake of breath seems suddenly so loud. He becomes extremely aware of his lips. Then Hugh’s lips, so full and soft and… There’s nothing he wants more, but nothing he’s more scared of in this moment.

Hugh reaches out to gently touch Paul’s knee. “Are you okay?”

This tiny touch is like fire on his skin. _Don’t let this chance go by_ , he tells himself. _Isn’t this what you wanted?_

Slowly, Paul shifts onto his knees, putting his hands on the sides of Hugh’s face. He looks into those gorgeous brown eyes for a few moments, feels the warmth of Hugh’s face under his hands. Hugh smiles at him, and Paul closes his eyes, slowly leaning down until their lips touch and soften against each other.

The motions feel clumsy and unfamiliar at first. _Am I doing this right? Does Hugh like this? Does my breath smell okay?_ But it feels amazing.

After a few moments, Hugh breaks the kiss to laugh softly. “I guess that was a yes.”

“Was it okay?”

“Let’s try something. Follow my lead?”

 _How is Hugh so confident?_ Paul wonders, not having time to fully absorb the implied critique before Hugh’s mouth is on his again, moving slowly, trying to savor the moment. His excitement and enjoyment grows, as does Hugh’s. And then there’s tongue. Hugh runs his tongue over Paul’s lips, slipping inside his mouth, tentatively at first, and then more passionately, as Paul feels himself melting into the sensation.

“Mmpfh,” Paul says, tightening his grip on Hugh’s neck. He feels so good: his soft skin, his slightly-rum-tinged lips, his tongue, oh god, his tongue.

“There we go,” Hugh says, breathing heavily through his nose between kisses. “Paul, I’m - getting - sand all over me.”

Paul rocks back onto his toes. “My bed?”

“If you want?”

Paul shifts his weight and stands up, extending his hand to Hugh as he rises. Hugh takes it and pulls himself to his feet, following the trajectory into Paul’s arms and onto his lips again.

They make out for a few moments standing up, Hugh’s hands now in Paul’s hair and Paul’s hands on Hugh’s waist, pulling him close.

Paul eventually realizes they’re not getting into bed. He pulls away, grabbing Hugh’s hand as he does so, and guiding him there. They brush sand off themselves before climbing onto the bed, orienting themselves.

Once in bed, Hugh grabs Paul’s ass and pulls him in, grinding against him for the first time. Paul gasps and then groans, wiggling against Hugh as he captures his lips again.

The sensations hold them suspended in time. Paul can’t be sure if they’ve been making out for minutes or hours. Each time he stops to take a breath and admire Hugh’s shining eyes and beautiful face, he’s drawn in by Hugh’s taste, smell, touch.

After a while, Paul shivers violently. He sits up to pull one of his blankets over them to ward off the chill of the ocean air. They huddle together, exchanging slower, gentler kisses.

Hugh yawns. “I don’t want to be, but I’m falling asleep.”

Paul sits up to grab another blanket from the foot of the bed. “I’d fall asleep if I was warm,” he grumbles, curling up facing Hugh.

Hugh wraps a warm muscular arm around Paul. “Better?” he murmurs against Paul’s forehead, kissing him softly.

“Yes.” Paul slowly traces lines on Hugh’s back, feeling the weave of his shirt bunch and stretch over his spine.

After a few moments he hears the soft rasp of Hugh’s breathing in sleep.

Paul inhales a few more comforting breaths, scented with Hugh, something like salt and rum and weathered wood, and in a few more moments, he’s asleep too.

 

***

 

Hugh wakes up warm and content, but something is different. He’s curled up in a corner of an unfamiliar bed. There’s… a foot on the back of his knee. Paul’s foot.

His joy at this realization is childlike, reminding him of his excitement about the summer fish festival in his childhood hometown. He’d run around with his friends in the streets, sneaking fruit from market stalls or handing over carefully hoarded coins for a pastry from the bakery. 

He rolls over to gaze at Paul, and almost laughs out loud. A little drool line is running down the left side of his chin. He’s breathing through his mouth, a bit raspy. And his hair is messy and getting long. Will Paul want it cut? Will he let it get long as most of the pirates do? His fingers twitch at the urge to comb them through Paul’s hair, to lean in and wake him with fiery kisses, hands running down his body and sliding under his clothes.

Hugh gets lost in thinking of the way Paul gently bit Hugh’s lip, the way he ran his hands up and down Hugh’s back, the deeply satisfied sounds he made when Hugh kissed his neck just right… it was perfect.

Paul breathes in suddenly, snorting and startling himself out of sleep. The first thing he sees upon opening his eyes is Hugh. The warmth in the crinkle of his eyes as he smiles makes Hugh short of breath.

“Morning,” Paul murmurs, caressing Hugh’s cheek, making him shiver. Paul’s facial stubble is almost sparkling in the morning light. Hugh suddenly wants to kiss that ethereally perfect jaw until his lips are sore.

He settles for running his hand over Paul’s shoulder and leaning in to press a gentle kiss on those soft lips.

Paul responds by slipping his tongue into Hugh’s mouth, eliciting a surprised but pleased noise from Hugh.

Hugh begins to kiss down Paul’s jaw toward his neck, just as he’d wanted. _What a perfect way to wake up._

 

_***_

 

Paul finds that the entire tone of his day changes, having started it in bed with Hugh. The day goes practically perfectly, despite the volume of tasks, from the reroofing of the common house and a few more of the cabins, to the repair of one of the _Shenzhou_ ’s sails.

Paul hasn’t worked this hard since his early years as an initiate in the navy. The hard physical labor, which normally he’d feel grumpy about, is unusually satisfying. Maybe it’s the fact that Hugh never strays far from him, and every time their eyes meet, they can’t help but smile or blush at each other.

Tilly winks exaggeratedly at him across the sewing circle when she catches Paul grinning at Hugh. “I told you,” she mouths at him. He shakes his head and looks away. 

When the day’s work is done, and the sun begins to set, making the North Moon stand out more in the evening sky, Hugh invites Paul, Michael, Tilly, Reno, and Soyu over to his cabin for drinks.

But when Paul comes over after washing up, Hugh’s sprawled out on his bed fast asleep.

“Hugh,” Paul says softly, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Hugh startles awake, but just as quickly relaxes when he sees Paul. “Hey,” he replies, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and starting to sit up.

“Don’t move,” Paul says, kicking his boots off and crawling onto the bed. Hugh curls up around him.

“Oh, you’re right, this is a good idea.”

They lie there for a while. Paul’s muscles are aching but mostly, he’s just delightfully tired and comfortable.

The door opens and Reno and Soyu come in. “Sorry to disturb you cuddlebugs. Are we still partying or what?” Reno asks.

Paul sits up abruptly, disengaging from Hugh.

“Sure. Make your own drinks,” Hugh invites them sleepily. “I’m not moving yet.” He says to Paul, “Where’re you going?”

“Old habits,” Paul says. “Touch. You know.”

Hugh nods sleepily. “It’s okay here, you know? But whatever you need.”

Paul looks down at Hugh, wanting so much to be safe in his arms again, trying to put aside decades of conditioning about public touch. Eventually, he lies back down near Hugh, not close enough to touch. 

Reno rustles around in Hugh’s trunk for drink supplies, and Paul takes deep breaths, trying to relax.

The bed dips slightly as Soyu climbs on, and Paul catches a glimpse of her multicolored headwrap through half-open eyes. Then Soyu kicks her legs over Hugh’s back. “Thought I’d join you in sitting down,” she says.

“Everybody’s welcome,” Hugh murmurs.

Hugh and Soyu start talking idly about the work of the day, and Paul dozes off.

He awakes sometime later to more voices, and the bed dipping and tilting more as more people climb on. Hugh’s moved to lean against Soyu’s knees, but his feet are tucked under Paul’s back. Paul looks over his shoulder, finding Michael and Tilly settled beside Hugh, Michael sitting between Tilly’s knees, leaning back against her. And when he looks toward his feet, he sees Reno curled up next to Soyu, adjusting her headwrap.

“You want a drink?” Reno asks him, and then shakes her head. “I don’t know why I ask, a navigator of your caliber should be able to find it yourself.”

Paul rolls his eyes at her and then reluctantly pulls himself to a sitting position. “I just want to sleep.”

“Come here, babe,” Hugh says, patting the space next to him as Michael and Tilly scoot over a bit.

Paul repositions himself on the bed, leaning against Hugh’s shoulder. He's too tired to care about the body contact now. Hugh pulls a blanket from somewhere and drapes it over him.

“I know you’re not used to celebrating as hard as we do,” Hugh says softly, kissing the top of his head. “Feel free to sleep.”

With the aid of his finely honed navy sleeping skills, and the warmth and safety in this room, Paul finally does relax into a deep sleep. He’s never felt so at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I love your comments. And thanks again to @Cygfa for beta-reading and helping me get this thing into shape.


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